The Life And Times of A Murdering Bastard
by Moneypenny1979
Summary: What was the life of Bill like? What events shaped him to become the Snake Charmer, head of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, a murdering bastard and the kind of man who would shoot his lover in the head? Spans from childhood to his showdown with Bea.
1. Author's Notes and Prologue

Author's Notes

Being a longtime fan of David Carradine, I was of course inclined to find the character of Bill fascinating. But, after watching Kill Bill, particularly volume two, I was really impressed by David's portrayal of both an evil and yet somehow sympathetic character. Bill became a human being, after being portrayed as much more of a distant "monster" figure in the first volume. This was not how I thought things would turn out, and I was pleasantly surprised.

Was Bill the real villain of the movie?

I don't know. But, what I found worth exploring what had made him what he was, questionable villain or not. What events shaped him to become the leader of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, a murdering bastard, and the type of man who would shoot his former lover point blank in the head?

I found the idea interesting and challenging and decided to try and write a little fanfic of Bill's life. I know there are other similar fanfics out there and this is just my interpretation of a story that no doubt could take on many different forms. This story WILL be finished, but it may just take me some time to update each chapter, so I apologize right off the bat for the amount of time this could possibly take to finish.

In the meantime, (shameless plug coming your way) please check out my friend Jess and I's joint fanfic "Kill Bill: Prequel 1 and 2" here in the list of Kill Bill stories (Jess writes Bea and I write Bill, I think it's worked out very well!) There will be some definite ties between this fanfic and those. Jess will also be writing for Beatrix in the later chapters of this fic.

All cannon Kill Bill characters belong to Q and U. All others are my creations. I have some thank you's, but I'll save them for the end.

(Note: I have decided to drop the rating of this story to PG-13 for at least the first chapter. It may go back up to R, due to the following.)

This story is rated a definite "R" for excessively foul language, disturbing situations, drug use, drug references, sex (but not explicitly so), sexual situations, adult situations, gore, violence, and lots of run on sentences. If you are highly offended by these things then you may want to skip this fic. But, if that doesn't deter you, then please read both the Prologue and the Epilogue with the rest of the story!

Thank you ahead of time for reading my little fic! And please, please give me some feedback if you feel so inclined. I've put allot of work into this and would love to know what you think!

Mel

Prologue

**Dreaming About Her**

"_Shall I tell you about my life?_

_They say I'm a man of the world._

_I've flown across every tide_

_And I've seen lots of pretty girls._

_I guess I've got everything I need._

_I wouldn't ask for more._

_And there's no one I'd rather be_

_But I just wish that I'd never been born."_

_Fleetwood Mac – Man of the World_

"B.B…..baby can you please clean up?"

There were toys everywhere; scattered haphazardly around the spacious and very stylish girl's room. Bill bent down and scooped up a small plastic katana, decorated in obnoxious bright colorings and painted in a completely inaccurate styling. He examined it with a frown, before glancing up with annoyance.

"B.B, I'm being serious," he reiterated in a parental warning tone, as he tossed the sword into the big toy chest that sat in the corner of the room.

The little girl thought she was being sneaky, but Bill could easily see two small feet protruding out from the corner of her large bed. Little digits wiggled in amusement as she apparently thought she had him good and fooled.

"I can see you," Bill sighed, crossing his arms. Normally he'd be more than happy to play along with her little game, but tonight was no ordinary night, tonight was a very special night. "Come on out honey, we don't have time for this right now."

He could hear her reluctant little huff from deep within the depths of mattress. "Oh…alright….," her tiny childish voice replied. A moment later the little girl had easily managed to crawl out from her cramped hiding spot and stood up with a deep frown. With an expression of defiance, she crossed her own small arms over her long nightgown, mirroring the posture of the man standing in front of her.

Bill couldn't help but smile at the sight, but it was a tighter smile than normal. "Remember what I told you earlier B.B.…about mommy waking up and coming to see you?"

The little girl nodded solemnly but with signs of quickly dawning excitement on her face. "Is she awake now? Is the coming here?"

"Yes. Well, she's coming very soon. Don't you want her to see how clean your room is? I think she'll be very happy to know you cleaned up just for her."

B.B. seemed to think this over for a minute, and then coming to a conclusion in her innocent mind, she gave a sharp nod, "Yes, she would be happy about that."

Bill chuckled lightly at this very noble attempt at adult agreement and his look increased in warmth as he lovingly looked upon the miniature human being standing in front of him. B.B. was four. She had thick dark brown hair and big brown eyes. She was a beautiful child, both smart and funny. He was proud to say she was his daughter. She was everything he could have wanted in a child, if he had wanted one. Nonetheless, she was his and he couldn't imagine his life without her now that she was in it.

"Come here honey, daddy's going to tell you something," he crouched down in front of his daughter, hands falling lovingly on her tiny shoulders. He fixed her with a serious look, "Now…remember what I told you about mommy? About how she's probably going to be a little sad and maybe even very mad at daddy when she comes here to see us?"

"Mmmhmm," B.B. nodded, her large eyes fixated on her father.

"I want you to make her feel very special, ok? Do you know why?" He paused, a gentler look replacing the former serious one, "Because mommy is a very special person."

B.B. leaned her head to the side, a hand swiping away locks of dark hair, "Why is she special?"

"Well," Bill gave his daughter a small smile, as he sat down cross legged next to her, "She's very special…..because she's your mommy and because I love her very much."

"I love her too daddy," B.B. replied possessively as she crawled up next to him, lying her head on his crossed leg.

"Of course you do baby," he stroked her hair lovingly, eyes downcast with affection "you still dream about her don't' you?"

"Uh huh….lots…."

"Me too….," Bill said quietly, trailing off. His weathered gaze slowly lifted from his daughter and wandered into the corner of the room. There was a flicker of sadness in the hard worn and some would say menacing face that so personified Bill. He was a killer, a bastard….some would even say a monster, but he was still a father. He was not a man incapable of love or compassion.

The monster and his daughter sat like that for a few quiet moments, each lost in their own separate and no doubt incredibly different mental worlds.

Willing himself out of his dark thoughts, Bill looked back down at his daughter. "Ok, B.B.…." He gently pulled her up, "Time to clean. And when we're done cleaning, then we'll play." He gave her a sly smile "And I know just the game….." With a little flick of the wrists, Bill pulled a small squirt gun out from each of his pants pockets as if they were duel six shooters.

B.B. grinned, reaching for one of the squirt guns, which her father quickly pulled away.

"Not yet little missy…," he raised a brow, "…remember, clean up first…and then," he faintly pressed the butt of the plastic guns against her button nose, "….then we'll play possum for mommy." The little girl laughed, thinking her father endlessly entertaining. "Now, "Bill stood up and turned around to survey the room, "...where in this mess, my dear, shall we start?"


	2. Chap 1 Part 1: El Muchacho Blanco

Author's Note – For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

**Chapter 1**

**The Acuna Boys**

**Part 1**

**El Muchacho Blanco**

"_The childhood shows the man,_

_As morning shows the sky."_

_-John Milton, Paradise Regained_

Ciudad Acuna, Mexico. 1956

Even at 11 years old, Bill was being addressed as a bastard.

"BASTARD! When we catch you, were going to fuck you up…real bad!"

Bill realized the moment he'd been spotted, he had a precious few seconds to get the hell out of there if he wanted to see his twelfth birthday. He knew that voice, and he recognized the bulk of the boy running at him…..now less than twenty feet away, along with five of his less than friendly posse members.

Dropping the now mutilated and useless bicycle, Bill turned and bolted down the narrow side street. Dashing around the corner of a dirty crumbling concrete building, his mop of unruly brown hair and lanky awkward limbs blurred with the speed of a boy who had absolutely no desire to stick around to face his punishment…..deserved or not.

The voices behind him were angry, ringing with the pitch of those around his own age. "Run all you want, we'll catch you!"

Sprinting down an uneven gravel road with reckless speed, Bill came to a sudden halt. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he quickly removed his worn leather shoes. His chest was heaving with excursion and with an angry swipe across his sweaty face; he threw his shoes into some nearby shrubbery. It was likely he'd have to retrieve them later.

Now barefoot, he began his escape anew….and just in time.

"There he is!"

Wild eyed, Bill risked another glance over his shoulder to see a group of Hispanic boys round the corner of the concrete building at a full run. All of them were dressed in dirty jeans, cowboy boots, and various dusty button-up shirts. One of them had acquired a baseball bat.

"Shit…." Bill swore and wasting no time, picked up his full sprint. He ignored the painful jabs of gravel in his bare feet. He often went barefoot and found that he'd developed enough calluses to make running on gravel only partially torturous. He'd just have to pick the rocks out of his skin later……that is, if he didn't have worse physical injuries to worry about.

He took a sharp left down a driveway, running past a blue 52' Ford pickup truck. In his somewhat clumsy rush, he clipped his shoulder on the overly large side view mirror and spun painfully onto the dusty ground. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his shoulder, he picked himself up and made a mad dash for a tall chain link fence that separated this lot from its neighbors back lot.

Like some frightened solder, Bill wrapped his fingers around the unforgiving chain link fence and began to climb like his very life depended on it………which, it very well could.

The group of angry boys spilled into the driveway to witness Bill's climb. The tallest of these boys, wearing a blue checkered button up shirt and a Smith and Weston belt buckle, gave a series of quick orders and split the group in half.

Much to Bill's unfortunate luck, he did not witness this change of tactics…seeing as he was far more occupied with trying to scale the summit of what seemed like the tallest goddamn fence he'd ever seen.

Sweat soaked and exhausted beyond his young comprehension, Bill reached the top of the fence and swung a leg over. Squinting into the hot afternoon sun, he inspected the backyard he was about to ascend into….it looked clear, nothing more than a large patch of dirt and a graveyard of abounded car parts.

The climb down was far easier and he was nearing the safety of the ground when a large brown hand latched onto his shoulder from behind and forcefully yanked him right off of the fence. He landed hard on the dusty ground, the breath momentarily knocked out of him.

The situation then became obvious. They had split up and trapped him. Even now, the group that had stayed in the other yard was making its way to where he lay, helpless…staring up at three smirking faces.

Those three faces soon became six. The sunlight became temporarily eclipsed by the hostile shadow of his attackers. Frowning and still gasping for air, Bill glared up at the ring of gloating faces. He was angry……with himself more than anything. He should have thought smarter…he could have gotten out of this, but he'd screwed up and now he was going to pay the price.

"I told you we'd catch you, mi amigo pequeño," the tallest boy spoke. This boy's name was Raul. He was older than the rest of them, probably fourteen or so. Bill was very familiar with Raul…..they'd already had a couple of not so pleasant meetings over the past year or so. As it so happened, last week, Raul and a few of these guys had beaten up Bill's younger and far smaller friend Alonso. Bill felt protective about Alonso and decided, using his juvenile reasoning to trash Raul's bicycle, the boy's prized treasure as it turns out. Bill knew it was no use trying to beat up a beast like Raul, so he tried to be a little sneakier. He'd followed Raul all day, watching him from the corners of buildings and behind the bumpers of parked cars. Finally, Raul had stupidly ditched his bicycle to join his friends at the baseball field and Bill had seized his opportunity to destroy the boy's prized material possession. It had all been going to plan, until he'd been spotted of course. Now, he was facing the fury of an angry testosterone overdosed bully. Bill knew there was really nobody to blame but himself. He could have thought of a better plan, he should have been smarter.

Raul was gloating, "This is so good…..I've been waiting for this. Finally, I get to teach you a lesson muchacho blanco," he turned and sneered at a shorter boy on his right. The boy to Raul's right was his younger brother Julio. Both of them were mutants for their age, tall and beastly. They were the only boys Bill had ever known who could grow mustaches. Their father was a rancher, who so the tale went, had three wives, a pet crocodile and owned more guns than the Mexican army.

Bill pushed himself up onto his aching elbows. He had few options at this point that didn't involve him getting the shit beat out of him. He knew he was far smarter than Raul, or any of these guys…but physically, he could do nothing against the six of them…not to mention a baseball bat. His dark eyes flashed with anger as he stared all of them down. They were acting tough, but they were scared of him…they'd always had been, that's was why they were so eager to show him a lesson. They didn't like him because he was white and they didn't like him because he had never been the slightest bit intimidated by them. Even though Bill was only eleven, not mush scared him….he'd already seen enough.

"What do you have to say for yourself muchacho blanco …eh?" Raul egged him on, that freaky boy- mustache twisting with a widening smirk. "I'll give you one chance to say something nice to us….maybe even we'll let you go, if it's real good."

"Si…or," another boy across the group, Paulo, who obviously used more pomade than Elvis Presley, spoke up, "…..like maybe if you let us all fuck your mother for free… eh?"

This got a round of laughter from all present, save for Bill…whose glare only intensified. He didn't care so much about the insult to his mother, she was a whore after all….she'd made herself a whore, not him…he refused to believe that anymore. What did bother him was that he was now helpless, and he'd foolishly made himself so. He hated being helpless, it made him angry. And Bill was aware of his temper; he knew that it was bad. His temper had been getting him into trouble for as long as his young mind could recall, but he also knew he could control it. And he knew he had to control it now.

Nostrils flared, he raised his chin defiantly, staring right into the eyes of Raul. He'd rather die than lie here and snivel like some baby. He was only a boy, but he knew he wasn't going to be one all that much longer.

It was about time to start taking things like a man.

"Stop talking about it and do it……hágalo…,." he replied in a soft but mature sounding voice, brows arched menacingly. He was going to play this cool, even though inside, he wanted to curl up in a ball and whimper. But, he had to do his best to fake it…..he was good at faking things, he always had been.

There was a wave of hesitation amongst the boys. Bill's reaction was not what they had expected. They thought he would beg for mercy, or better….cry. Raul, on the other hand, had no intention of letting the little white boy get away by playing calm.

"El hijo que jode de una ramera!" Raul hissed, cursing violently. Rearing back, he struck Bill in the ribs with the sharp toe of his overly large cowboy boot.

Bill had little time to dawn on the flare of pain in his side, as Raul's attack started a chain reaction……a volley of blows from the other boys. Before he knew it, Bill had indeed crawled into a ball as he was pummeled on all sides by fists, elbows, knees and feet. Eventually it just became a white noise sort of pain, just like the loud jeering of his attackers. He attempted to cover up every vulnerable spot all at once, but obviously this was impossible…and soon he was resigned to cup his hands over his ears, as he clamped his teeth together in both stubborn defiance and pain.

This went on for a few minutes, but to Bill it seemed like days. He'd never felt so much pain at once. It was worse than the time he'd toppled his bicycle into an irrigation ditch, worse than the time he'd grabbed a cactus plant….even worse than the time he'd been hit by a grown man. He began to wonder if it was ever going to stop.

Slowly, one by one the boys backed away from the beaten and bruised Caucasian boy. It took Bill a few moments to realize they'd stopped; the pain just seemed to go on in returning strikes. He squeezed his eyes shut; no…they just wouldn't open. He could also taste metallic blood in his mouth, along with a good amount of gritty dust.

"Pick him up." It was Raul, audible through the ringing in Bill's ears.

Bill felt himself being roughly pulled onto his shaky knees. One of his eyes still wouldn't open all the way, but he managed to open the other and rose it up to stare at Raul with proud intensity. He wanted to cry now….that was for sure, but he wouldn't, he was better than this. Without even thinking about it, the corner of his now split lip turned up into a smirk.

Raul glared back, "Look at this….he's still giving me a look. Arrogant little ass, you never learn do you?" He glanced at the baseball bat in Paulo's hand. "Give me the bat." As Paulo complied, Bill remained undaunted. He was too angry and too proud to let any of them see him break. They wanted him to break and he wasn't going to give them any more than he had to….to survive.

Raul took a sloppy batters stance, the baseball bat clenched firmly in his meaty hands, "You won't be giving nobody a look after this muchacho blanco. This one's gunna make the Babe jealous, even from his fucking grave." With a sneer, he then swung the bat right at Bill's face with the full entirety of his farm boy born strength. There was a terrifying rush of air and then……

The last thing Bill remembered seeing for a few dark minutes was the distinctive logo of The Louisville Slugger coming right at him.

He never did like baseball much after that.

In his lifetime, Bill would have his nose broken five times. This would be the first. It was also undoubtedly the worst.

When he came to, laying flat on his back, his first thought was that his whole face had been busted completely in. A quick inspection over his puffy tearing eyes, bruised cheeks and split open lip put that theory to rest, seeing as there was still bone standing underneath. But when he went to touch his nose, he pulled away with a wail of pain. It was crunched to one side, broken. He then traced a sticky river of blood all the way down his face, over his button up shirt and inspected his blood covered hands. He was no stranger to blood, but he'd never seen so much in his entire life….not even at the local slaughterhouse.

It was obvious that Raul and his friends, happy with the result of their attack, had left Bill alone. The deserted yard was now silent, save the distant sound of cars and a few scattered bird calls.

Bill let his head fall back on the unforgiving ground, but blood started to run down his throat, choking him. Rolling onto one side, he spit up the blood, his body racking with a miserable sob. He'd never felt so much pain before but, for some reason what hurt more than anything was the shame of it all…the mental pain, not the physical pain. They'd put him out, done a real number on him….it was humiliating and he hated to be humiliated.

Pressing the side of his forehead into the ground, he gritted his blood and dust coated teeth together, peering through one teary eye at his raw knuckles. He could feel his dangerous tamper flare up and the mere fact that he couldn't get up and do something about it made him even angrier.

"Hey….you… niño blanco….." a boy's voice rang from above.

Bill froze, his agony and anger momentarily forgotten. He squinted up into the glaring blue sky to spot the tall form of Julio standing above him. A look of fury crossed Bill's wreck of a face. Here was his chance for revenge. He pushed himself up, making a sharp movement towards the other boy.

"No…no….I'm not here to beat you up anymore." Julio bravely crouched down at his side. "I…," the Hispanic boy took a nervous glance around the silent lot; "…I came back…snuck away from those guys. I wanted to make sure you were alright…my brother really gave you a shitty time on that last hit, even if you did bust up his bike. I wanted to check on you….make sure you weren't dead or anything." He shrugged his wide shoulders in put on masculine indifference. "Maybe I can help you."

Bill blinked his one open eye at the backlit silhouette of Julio. Was the kid crazy? He wanted to help him after beating him up? Bill continued to stare until the blazing sunlight forced him to look down. Maybe Julio was lying, but it was hard to tell. "I'm fine," he replied after a moment, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Julio shook his head, "No. You look pretty bad to me. C'mon," he grabbed onto Bill's forearm, pulling him all the way up, "…I'll take you to my aunt's house. She's good with medicine and things. She used to be a nurse."

Bill hesitated, stumbling. Like hell he wanted to go Julio's aunt's house, but he was finding it harder to make any sort of physical protest and Julio was far bigger then he was. He staggered a few times, the world a bright haze of spinning shapes. He felt more blood in his throat and he spat it out angrily, managing only to miss the ground and get it onto his torn jeans.

Soon, he felt Julio's hand on his arm, steadying him. "Here, I'll help." Bill shrugged off the large hand with a glare, but when the Hispanic boy persisted, he gave up…he was too tired to care.

Julio led him down a couple narrow streets. Bill wasn't exactly sure where they were going, not only was he short one eye at the moment, he just found it easier to look down than to have to see people staring at him as Julio led him around like some dumb blind child.

"Watch out for the fence," Julio spoke up, the first thing he'd said since taking hold of Bill's arm.

Bill raised his chin, cringing painfully. "Where are we?" He'd lost track of time.

"At my Aunt Blanca's," Julio stopped, and began tinkering with the handle on a metal gate, "….watch out for the fence," he repeated, leading Bill through the gate and down a pathway.

From what Bill could make out of Julio's aunt's house it was small and run down, like many houses in Acuna. There were no windows on the front; the shades were bright orange and pink blankets, hung in the place of glass. There was laundry strung up on the porch and the sound of old mariachi music emitting from the radio within.

Julio opened the squeaky screen door, and seeing as the front door either didn't exist or was already open, he yelled into the house for his aunt. There was some shuffling and Bill waited on the porch, head down, for whatever sort of help he was to receive. He was doing his best to ignore the throbbing that seemed to have enveloped his entire face.

The front door squeaked again and there was a quick exchange of Spanish between Julio and a woman, which Bill missed the majority of.

Then, he felt two strong but tender hands grab him by his forearms and push him into the depths of the biggest bosom he'd ever had the experience of being pushed into.

"Oh, you poor thing!" The rather….large woman coddling him said, clicking her tongue, "Oh, usted muchacho pobre, pobre!" Bill lifted his face, making sure to save his crushed nose from this embrace, to look into the large kind face of Julio's aunt. She was a middle aged woman of grand proportions. Her sleek black hair was tied up into a tight bun and draped over her large body was a bright multi colored traditional Spanish dress.

"I think my nose is broken," Bill mumbled, almost forgetting to speak in Spanish.

"Ohh! You poor child!" Aunt Blanca shook her head, still clicking her tongue with pity. Her tiny dark eyes squinted at him with maternal concern. "Come! Come inside!"

Bill was led into the small, cluttered but very festive house where he was given a couch to lie on and a blanket to wrap himself up in. Aunt Blanca, despite being a little flamboyant, seemed to know exactly what she was doing and she attended to Bill's wounds with professional care.

Things got a little hazy then. Bill remembered the endless droning mariachi music, Aunt Blanca's kind voice and Julio's murmured replies. Just when he thought he could handle the pain, Aunt Blanca grabbed his nose and turned it back into place….at that point Bill threw any last vestiges of stoicism out the window. He cried like a goddamn baby.

A couple hours later, lolled and sedated by something questionable Aunt Blanca had given him, Bill awoke and spent a good hour staring at the peeling ceiling pant before Aunt Blanca and Julio noticed he'd woken up.

"You feel better now?" The large woman knelt at his side, her meaty hands probing his shoulders kindly.

"Yes…..." Bill managed, a hand tentatively excavating his face. He didn't touch his nose, but it did feel like it was back in place. He felt a little woozy, and there was dried blood all over his shirt, but overall…he felt much better.

"Ah, good…good," Aunt Blanca smiled her wide smile, "Julio told me everything that happened and he tells me he is very sorry for what happened. Isn't that right Juilio?" Her kind voice became momentarily stern.

"Si," Julio mumbled, his own head bent as he stood behind his aunt, proficient at the art of playing 'good boy'.

At the moment Bill didn't really care either way. "I'd like to go home now," he spoke up softly.

"Of course you do my dear," Aunt Blanca's voice warmed up again, "I asked my nephew if he knows of your father….but he tells me you have no father. Where do you live child? You live here in Acuna?"

Bill slowly turned his head to look directly at Aunt Blanca, even through his injuries there was no missing the steely resolve on his face, "Julio is right, I have no father. I live with Estiban."

"Estiban?" Aunt Blanca sat back suddenly, her small brown eyes widening, "Estiban Valijio?"

Bill nodded his groggy head against the couch cushion.

Aunt Blanca crossed herself in full Catholic fashion, "Oh….mi madre Mary de Dios….," she regarded Bill with renewed pity, "…..you…..poor, poor child."

* * *

Estiban Valijio was, at this time, a successful pimp in his early 30's. He'd been born and raised in Acuna Mexico, but had done a great amount of traveling in his lifetime. Thus, for a pimp, he was a rather worldly man. Bill's mother had come into his acquaintance when Bill was only two years old. She'd sauntered into Estiban's establishment with the quiet toddler under one arm and she hadn't left since. Right away, Estiban treated Bill like his own son; lavishing the boy with attention and wisdom, be it asked for or not. Even though Bill attended school, at least until he was fifteen or so, Estiban went out of his way to teach the boy how to properly read and write. Although, Estiban was far more adept at Spanish than English, he made sure Bill got a good dose of both languages. More than just reading and writing, Estiban was a man of gentlemanly mannerisms….although, as Bill would find out, many of his acts were far from genial. Thus, Bill was, from an early age shown everything from how to properly tie a necktie, shine his shoes, make small talk, communicate eloquently to others, drink liquor with a relish, eat like a gentleman, roll tobacco, pick out the right jacket, play cards and so on.

One of Bill's more amusing gentlemanly learning tasks was dancing. Once a week, Estiban would clear away a small area in his establishment and Bill would get dancing lessons from the pimp. Of course, there was always an abundance of female dancing partners sitting around in wait and Estiban would try to find the smaller of his whores to dance with the young boy. Estiban wanted Bill to adept at all forms of Latin dancing: the tango, the salsa, the rumba, even the lambada.

When informed of his new regimen of lessons, the five year old Bill had been a little skeptical.

"I don't even know a…lamb….bada is Estiban," Bill said, his Spanish still a little clumsy.

"It is the forbidden dance." Estiban chuckled….a twinkle in his eye as he lit a cigarette.

A look of confusion crossed Bill's young face, "But….if it's forbidden…how will I know it?"

"Oh," Estiban smiled knowingly, "You will know my boy," he exhaled a stream of thick smoke, "Now, let us gets started."

"But Estiban," Bill remained perplexed, "I'm….," he searched for a word for what he wanted to say, finally pointing at his skinny forearm, "…white…not brown like you."

"That means nothing when dancing Bill," Estiban replied, dark eyes staring down at the child. "Latin dancing comes from here," he pointed at his own heart, "...not here," he pointed at his own brown hand. "It is about passion. Now, enough of your talk, I talk, you dance."

At first, Bill loathed this part of his lessons…he thought it was boring. As the years went on, he changed his position on the whole dancing thing a few times. He went through a phase where he thought it was fun, in that childish sort of way. Then he swung back the other direction when was he about ten, ashamed of being seen and ostracized by his friends. But, a few short years later, things took yet another turn and soon Bill was asking Estiban if he could dance two times a week.

Estiban complied, until a few weeks in, he looked up from a book he was reading to find his young dance protégé making some serious moves on his dance partner that were falling way out of the category of proper salsa dancing….and the woman was going right along with it.

"Not with my whores Bill!" He snapped, jumping up and boxing the grinning young man on the ear. "Never with my whores! Do you hear me? Nunca!"

After that, the dance lessons were knocked back down to once a week and much to Bill's disappointment, with far closer supervision.

But Estiban was not all whimsy and dance. When Bill was six, he first witnessed the darker and more violent side of his first adopted father when he beat two women nearly to death.

Bill, being so young, was a little unsure of what the two pretty ladies had done to make Estiban so angry. He and Estiban had just spent a day together. As it went, every few weeks, Estiban would set a day aside where just the two of them would go and do something fun together. Sometimes they would go on long drives through the desert in Estiban's red Morris Minor. Other times they'd go to neighboring towns, or even into southern Texas. Once, they even went to California. Estiban would tell Bill wild stories, which questionably were true, but they fueled the young boy's lurid fantasies of adventure and drama. They'd go to movies, listen to records, mostly Frank Sinatra, and drink expensive floats. Once, Estiban made him eat a tequila worm, but Bill hadn't liked that all that much.

On those glorious days, Bill felt, for a short time, like he was a boy with a real father…..a real father who loved him and would do anything for him. Estiban would be attentive, funny and, to a young boy, incredibly fascinating…with his couth mannerisms and nice suits. But, then they'd return to Acuna and Estiban would go back to work, where…sometimes he'd act quite scary.

So, when they had returned from one of their fun "adventure days" and Estiban began to grow angry with two women the moment they walked in the door of the house, Bill wasn't too alarmed…at least not at first.

Perhaps Estiban just forgot he was standing there, or perhaps he had wanted the boy to witness the act, either way, the Mexican pimp's verbal tantrum quickly turned physical as Bill stood in the corner and watched with wide brown eyes.

"Joder a rameras!" Estiban cursed, in Spanish of course, but Bill understood what it meant, even at six. He heard it a lot. Estiban than grabbed the two women by their arms, and gave each of them a hard punch, not unlike the superhero's in the comics Bill liked to look at. But, the women didn't punch back like in his comics, they started crying and wailing like babies, clutching at Estiban as he hit them again and again.

It was terrifying and yet, somehow fascinating and Bill found himself mesmerized by the violence taking place in front of him. Was it the brutal way Estiban enforced his power over the women, or the whimpering reactions of the women themselves? Bill didn't' know, but he did know he found it darkly seductive.

Then, Estiban produced a knife from his jacket pocket. It was a small knife, most likely a pocket knife of sorts. Bill's eyes widened even further as he stayed back in the dark corner of the room. There was a lot of movement; Estiban's angry fist pounding on the women's faces again and again…and then there was the glint of the knife as it reflected off the dim lamp in the dining room.

Bill's full attention then become focused on that knife as Estiban wielded it, not without some expertise, and slashed the faces of each of the women….right near their mouths. It was quick and brutal…and he only cut each one once, but once was enough. The women's cries became softer but far more anguished. They no longer grasped at Estiban's fine slacks; they just crumpled to the linoleum tiling.

Estiban stood above them, like some theatrical stage villain, the knife clutched in his brown hand. The only sound was the soft whimpers of the cut women and Bill's own heart as it pounded against his small ribcage, out of….fright…or…excitement?

Slowly, Estiban lowered the blade and with a fierce growl, strolled into the kitchen to clean it off. Bill's gaze then dropped to the two crying crumpled heaps on the floor. Both women were clutching at their bleeding faces, the whites of their eyes prominent in the dimly lit room as they both looked at the young boy for comfort.

But, he didn't give them any. He simply stood there, staring at them.

"Please," one woman garbled, her hand pressed to her mouth, dark crimson oozing from between her fingers, "….chico….get us…some rags….."

Bill blinked, still unmoving, still silent. The woman looked a lot like his mother……but it wasn't, was it?

"Please…..," she tried again, crawling towards him with her other hand, dirty fingernails digging into the cheap brown tiling. The other woman began to cough, a terrible garbling sound accompanying it.

"Chico….." the first woman continued to crawl towards him, "…please…a rag….something…."

Bill took a reflexive step back, eyes fixated on her in horror and fascination. She looked so much like his mother. Where was his mother? Was she OK? He wanted to see his mother! He felt a sudden sense of sickness and panic.

Suddenly, he spun around with a small whimper and ran through the house….feeling tears sting his eyes. Where was his mother? He had to find her! He knocked into a few walls, swiping at his tearing eyes. He called out for her, but she didn't reply. All of the room doors were shut, dingy tall rectangles towering over him. The hallways were so badly lit…it was so hard to see with tears added. He had to find her room….he knew where it was, it was the dark red one in the last hallway. Stumbling down the hall, he spotted it and running right into her door, he opened it without knocking.

It was very dark inside, and hot. It didn't' smell very good and there were some weird noises coming from the shadows. Standing framed in the dim halo of the open door, Bill cried out for her….and after a few seconds of his eyes adjusting to the dark, he saw her.

At least, he thought it was her. She was sitting on top of some man Bill didn't recognize, she was moving in a weird way…..and she wasn't wearing any clothing.

"GET OUT!" She yelled, frozen in mid-motion, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BILL! I told you, never EVER to come in here!"

Bill stared, confused and hurt. He didn't' understand. What was she doing? He was too young to fully grasp the situation, and more than anything, his mother yelling at him so…when he just wanted to make sure she was alright, was wounding. "Mother….," he managed in a small whisper.

"I TOLD YOU!" She yelled again, her naked silhouette still frozen in mid-act, "GET OUT YOU LITTLE BASTARD!' Her mouth was a cruel line, eyes nothing more than two black holes in darkness of the room.

It was too much. With tears anew, Bill turned away and slammed the door shut. Without really thinking, he ran as fast as he could to the furthest back room in the house, his bedroom…. knocking over things as he went. He threw himself into his bed and cocooned under the covers. He didn't like to cry, but right now he couldn't help it. He was so confused. Why had Estiban cut the faces of those ladies? What had his mother been doing in her room? Why did she hate him so much? Why did she yell at him so loudly? He then started to try to convince himself that the woman he saw crawling towards him with the cut lip had been his mother and the naked woman in the room had been somebody else. He found it easier to grasp the reality of that violent scene than the reality of the dirty and cruel thing in the room. He had almost found the blood to be exhilarating…..but the cruelty and depravity of his mother only made him angry and hateful towards her.

After sometime, he fell into a fitful slumber. Then, Estiban came into his room and sat next to him. He was back to being the Estiban that did fun things with him and he spoke to him softly, his large hand resting comfortingly on Bill's head. Estiban gave him a simple and genteelly delivered explanation, telling the six year old that the women did that 'as part of their jobs' that they 'had to have that done to them' Bill didn't really understand all of that, but he was too tired and upset to inquire anymore at the moment. He didn't mention his mother to Estiban, he didn't want to have to try to explain what he didn't understand.

Giving Bill's brown hair a manly tussle, Estiban stood and left him to his own confused and angry thoughts. Sniffling, Bill eventually fell asleep. In time, he would come to fully understand both of those situations quite clearly, but for the moment he was just a boy newly exposed to a far darker world than he had known before.

Bill and Estiban continued to go on their "adventure days" but the boy never quite got over seeing what he had seen that night, and from that moment on, Estiban began to slowly unveil his darker side to him. Months later Bill saw him cut more women and when he was ten, Estiban hit him a few times, and not playful hits either. But, that was a short lived phase for the pimp and he passionately apologized to Bill….for it appeared Estiban much preferred to hurt women.

* * *

As it stood, Bill's childhood was not exactly typical but it had not been without moments of naïve joy.

His first few years in Acuna were spent fairly innocently, as he lived wide eyed and unknowing in a house of prostitution. From early on he was an intense child, who preferred to do things his way and stay mostly to himself. He spent many hours sitting next to the back screen door, playing with plastic cowboys and Indians on the cracking linoleum that was scattered with square islands of outdated carpeting. For Bill, the linoleum was cowboy territory, the carpet… Indian lands. The screen door had been full of holes and dead flies for as long as he could remember, and when he grew tired of playing, he'd sit in the doorframe, right behind the screen door and stare out of the tiny holes across the back lot. Many, many hot evenings were spent this way. Bill never asked his young self what drew him to do this, he simply did. Some of the prostitutes, which at the time Bill just thought of as nice pretty ladies, called him the "Screen Door Boy" or "el Muchacho de Puerta." He'd just smile at them shyly and watch them with large brown eyes as they talked and mingled around the kitchen with cigarettes in their slender fingers.

As the years progressed, so did the toys, and eventually Bill migrated from the screen door to the living room, a comic book in his face. He'd sit there, under the dim lamp light, wrapped up in one of Estiban's woven blankets on the large leather recliner and read Superman, Marvel Tales, and the Two Gun Kid until he fell asleep right there.

When Bill slept he often had strange dreams. The most prominent dream he had began when he was about five and reoccurred throughout his entire lifetime. On a few occasions he'd even revisit it under the influence of drugs…but that was many years coming.

The dream was about the desert. Bill had always had a fascination with the desert that would stay with him his entire life. In the dream he'd take on the form of a snake, sometimes he'd be a scorpion or even a lizard….but usually he was a snake. He'd slither around on the hot dunes, eating everything in his path….plants, cacti, other snakes and animals. He'd even eat people or cars that dared to venture through the infinite stretch of road. As he ate things, he'd slowly get mightier in size and strength, hissing and vicious in his attacks. Nothing could stop him and eventually he began to eat the desert itself, until there was nothing left but endless blackness.

It wasn't a frightening dream at all…in fact, whenever Bill woke up after the desert dream he always felt strangely empowered. Later in his life, he once told a woman he was sleeping with about the dream. She tried to psychoanalyze him, giving him a load of Freud bullshit about sex, violence and male power. He thought she was full of shit and kept it to himself from then on.

During his childish waking hours, Bill often daydreamed about the desert as well. But, he wasn't a completely off base and mystical child. He spent the rest of the time thinking about typical young boy stuff: wanting to be a cowboy, secretly wishing his father was Gene Audrey…only to fix that mistake and replace ol' Gene with John Wayne, going on all sorts of fantastic adventures, and comics of course.

His nightly comic readings reached an obsessive point by the time he was ten and while Estiban was somewhat horrified at this, he was at least happy that the boy was reading something.

* * *

While growing up in the house of a pimp was not your typical childhood, neither was growing up Acuna Mexico. Acuna, at the time, was a fairly small town near the border between Mexico and Southern Texas. It sat amidst highways and flat rural farming ground, not so far away there was a good stretch of desert land. The town of Acuna consisted mostly of bars, restaurants and other tourist traps for Americans traversing the line between the United States and Mexico, looking for cheap drinks and a good time. Its main employment, besides the tourist traps and bars, was low paying manufacturing jobs. It was also a haven for the drug trade, prostitution and the manufacturing of cheap medicines. Those who worked there generally worked hard, illegal employment or not.

Acuna was not all that picturesque, nor did it resemble the rather romanticized picture of Mexico in many people's minds. One had to go further south to achieve that sort of atmosphere.

No, to Bill, Acuna's scenic tapestry mainly consisted of out dated pick up trucks, peeling adobe buildings of turquoise and light brown, migrant workers in blue jeans, belt buckles and beat up cowboy boots, and a dizzying array of bars. There were a few places for a kid to "hang out": the market store, a small junk shop that sold baseball cards and comics amongst shelves full of second hand things, a family style diner with a friendly soda jerk, and of course the baseball field behind the schoolhouse.

It wasn't the best town, but it was the town Bill would know as home. Even when he left Acuna, Acuna was still always home.

* * *

And what exactly of Bill's mother? . .

Well, Bill never really actually knew his mother. He only knew a few minor details that she was willing to share with her son over the years, like precious clippings of a life she didn't want to remember. She was from Arizona; her father had been a child molester, her mother a child. She'd dropped out of school when she was ten to help out on her aunt's ranch in Southern Arizona, where she spent most of her younger years. She once wanted to be a rodeo queen but when she got knocked up at fourteen, she gave up on that dream. She'd left Bill's father before Bill was even born, tried to be a waitress in Texas, found out she hated people too much to do that and somehow ended up a whore in Acuna Mexico.

Beyond that, she was a closed book. She had no real interest whatsoever in her son and when she did speak to him, it was in a cold distant manner. Her voice was hard and bleached of emotion. She always spoke with a thick Southern accent, and Bill was never really sure where'd she'd picked it up, he never asked either. Somehow he knew, even as a small child, that she hated him. When Bill was younger he thought maybe she hated him because he'd ended her dream of being a rodeo queen and forced her to be a whore. Then he thought maybe she hated him because he looked too much like his father. But, as he got older, he realized that she just hated him without a real clear explainable reason…and in turn, he hated her back. She became just another of Estiban's whores; a woman of low morals and lost ideals. Perhaps there had been some opportunities early on to have developed some sort of sentimental attachment between mother and son…but that faded with time, cruelty and neglect.

Much like her interior, her exterior faded. Bill remembered vaguely, that she had once possessed a sort of beauty; with her pale skin, tall stature and chestnut hair and eyes. But, he mostly knew her as a woman who looked far older than her years. Her hair became dull, her skin sallow, her eyes hard and vacant, her body worn with years of misuse and the touch of uncaring hands.

Once, when Bill was about twelve, he asked his mother who his father was, what he was like. All she'd offered to him was that he'd been "a drifter, a bastard, a drunkard and a mean son of a bitch." That was all Bill was ever given and it didn't do anything to improve the image of the man who'd sired him. Soon after that, he lost most of his interest in his father and often he pretended that the man had never actually existed. He would work to replace him.

For a few years, the closest Bill ever had to a "mother figure", revolved around a woman named Gloria. Gloria was Estiban's, "number one lady" during Bill's younger years in the house. A woman of extreme beauty and charm, she would sit on the carpet by the screen door next to him and read to him…for she was very well schooled for a whore. If he begged her enough, she'd even indulge him in setting up his bucket of plastic cowboys and Indians. He'd been pretty young then, and found nothing suggestive about the beautiful lady with her long shiny black hair, large doe eyes, shapely tan legs and heaving bosom sitting with him on the carpet. For a short time, she was a glimmer of maternal grace and attention, in the dark void that his mother had left. He liked her warm pretty smile and her laugh, which reminded him of tinkling piano keys. But what he really liked was how she'd make all of his toy figures die horribly dramatic deaths. He'd lie on the carpet, in stitches laughing as she acted out scenes of gory death and terrible betrayal between the tiny plastic figurines.

But, when Bill was seven, Gloria disappeared. He was too young to fully understand. He knew she'd done something bad though, something bad to Estiban. The last time he saw her, she was sitting in the back room on one of the many beds, crying. She was holding a rag to her face. Bill knew Estiban must have cut her. He had stood silently in the dark doorway watching her for sometime. She didn't seem to notice him and then, she was gone.

That had been Bill's first and only attempt to collect a mother figure. After that, he sought only father figures for the rest of his life.

But, for the moment, Bill was happy with just one father figure and for the eleven year old bastard, there were more immediate schemes in the works….the most prominent being reaping the many unexpected benefits of recently having his nose broken.

* * *

A few weeks after the incident with Raul and his friends, Martina Gonzalez, a girl a year older than Bill, kissed him. He'd been telling her a slightly more exaggerated version of the story of how he'd got his nose broken one hot afternoon behind the schoolhouse. As he was rather animatedly telling her, she began to pat him on the shoulder, a look of girlish pity in her dark eyes as she drew nearer. And when he was able to produce a few dramatic tears…well boy….that was the real cincher. With a sweet, "You poor thing," falling from those rosy pink lips, she kissed him. It wasn't one of those silly little kisses he'd been stealing from girls for years either, but a real kiss….like the ones adults did to each other. When he tired to kiss her again, she shoved him away and ran off with a giggle.

Perplexed by this, but awakened into a whole new world of forbidden sensations, he stood there watching her run away, her knee skirt flipping up in the wind.

At that moment, Bill decided that had made having his nose broken well worth the pain.

And as it turned out, after spending that afternoon at Julio's aunt's house those few weeks ago, he and the Hispanic boy had come to an understanding of sorts….and within days they were best of friends. The powers of forgiveness are strangely refreshing amongst children. Later that week they went to the movies together, _Invasion of the Body Snatchers._ When they secretly admitted to each other later that night, hiding under sleeping bags with flashlights in the living room of Aunt Blanca's, that it had scared the piss out of both of them, their bond of friendship was sealed.

Raul wasn't happy at all about his brothers 'betrayal" but after having broken Bill's nose he seemed to think that they were now even and left Bill alone from then on. Which was a smart move on Raul's part; because in a few short years Bill would not be a kid you wanted to mess with anymore.

A few weeks after destroying Raul's bicycle, Bill spotted Raul parking a brand new one at the baseball field. Bill was truly tempted to trash that one as well, but he quickly regained his senses and let it go. He had moved on beyond that little stupid rivalry and besides, he had Julio for a friend now…..that was more important.

Julio, would soon become, for a few years, one of Bill's closest and few childhood friends near to his age. Julio was a kid who was destined to become a man looking for trouble. He was a deft pickpocket and thief by the time he was ten. He swore that he had originally started these hobbies in an effort to help out his sick mother and her four younger starving children, who had separated from his gun toting rancher of a father. For all Bill knew that was a crock of shit, since during their years of friendship, he never met any of these alleged "poor" younger siblings of Julio's.

Nevertheless, Julio was every twelve year olds dream friend. He swore he could score you anything: weed, dirty magazines, booze, cigarettes….candy, whatever your twisted adolescent heart desired.

Julio was also a pretty damn good brawler too, as Bill had unfortunately already experienced and the bigger boy went out of his way to teach Bill a few good street fighting techniques, all of them viciously effective and practical for their rough young lives. He also indulged upon Bill the finer points of pick pocketing and thievery.

It was Julio who would become a large influence on Bill during these few short impressionable years of his life.

Most of his influence was far from wholesome.


	3. Chap 1 Part 2: Girls, Guns, Vice and Eve...

Author's Notes - For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

I also want to thank those who left such nice reviews for Part 1. I really appreciate the feedback guys! It's very encouraging and I promise I will get around to doing the same for those of you who have written some great KB stories as well.

I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I will try and make the updates a little more frequent from now on.

**Chapter 1**

**The Acuna Boys**

**Part 2**

**Girls, Guns, Vice, And Everything Not So Nice**

_"What you go and do,_

_Go and give a boy a gun,_

_Now there ain't no place to run to,_

_Ain't no place to run._

_When he hold it in his hand,_

_He feel mighty, he feel strong._

_Now there ain't no place to run to,_

_Ain't no place to run._

_Now we'll all be at his mercy,_

_If he decides to hunt us down._

_Cause there ain't no place to run to,_

_Ain't no place to run._

_He wants the chances that you took from him,_

_And nothing that you own._

_Then there'll be no place to run to,_

_There'll be no place to run._

_And if he finds himself to be,_

_A reflection of us all._

_Bang, bang, bang,_

_He'll shoot us down._

_Before you can raise your eyes to read,_

_The writing on the wall,_

_Bang, bang, bang,_

_He'll shoot you down._

_Before you can bridge the gulf between,_

_And embrace him in your arms._

_Bang, bang bang,_

_He'll shoot you down._

_-Tracy Chapman "Bang, Bang, Bang."_

Ciudad, Acuna Mexico. 1958

When Bill was ten years old, he first laid hands on an instrument that would forever change his life...and eventually, many years later, aid him considerably in making one hell of a living. It was a gun, a revolver, a Colt 38 Special in this case.

This seemingly trivial but unknowingly very important event in Bill's life occurred when he and Estiban had gone to a mid-summer street fair in Tijuana. Back then, it wasn't such a big deal to have a few gun sellers out amongst the typical craftsmen and artisans. These gun sellers were generally trying to sell off older guns or refurbished antiques to collectors, not to capture the young fancy of a future international murderer.

Walking side by side with Estiban in the midday heat, his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, Bill had nearly missed the table of guns, as he was busy squinting at a display of bright piñatas a few aisles down. But by happenstance, he turned at the last minute and caught sight of the rows and rows of pistols laid on neatly on a stretch of brown felt that dominated a tall wood table.

Bill felt drawn to that table like a tiny sadistic moth to a dangerous flame.

Quickly and deftly sneaking away from Estiban, he approached the display and gazed lovingly across the array of polished firearms. He wasn't quite tall enough to look completely down on them, but looking across was more than good enough, His hand, on its own fruition, reached out and picked up one of the pistols. It was a Colt 38.

He held it tightly in his hand, his fingers laced neatly around the handle. It was exhilarating. Bill had seen lots of guns, and he knew quite a bit about them, but he'd never actually had held one...until now. He became completely fixated on the weapon; experiencing a tunnel vision of sorts, as everything around him vanished into the distance and the gun came forward with almost inhuman clarity and beauty. And, it was beautiful; there was the subtle glint of the bright sun casting off the barrel, the tension of the trigger under his forefinger, the smooth wood of the handle cradled in his palm, and the pure weight of the rounded metal weapon. Some kids he knew liked to hold their own dicks too much, but Bill knew right away that he'd never get tired of holding a gun. This was a powerful thing, and he knew right then and there, that he wanted a part of that power. He was in love with this object, as he'd always be in love with this object.

"Hey, you! Chico"

Bill looked up, snapped out of his daze by the rough voice of the gun seller, who'd apparently just now noticed the skinny brown haired boy handling his guns.

"That's not for you, muchacho" the seller continued, folding his meaty arms over a barrel chest. He was a large leather skinned Hispanic man with a wide unruly mustache, and he was regarding Bill with the utmost look of adult patronizing. "That's a grown up thing ok? Now, put it back...you're ruining my display."

Bill simply glared up at the man with a hard intensity that was already trademark in him; a look that went beyond his mere ten years. He didn't move to put the gun back; he simply kept cradling it in his palm. He didn't want to put it back, it felt too good, too natural in his hand.

It was then that Bill felt the familiar and not entirely welcome palm of Estiban fall on his shoulder. "My apologies señor" the Mexican pimp spoke to the seller in a genial tone, his fingers digging into Bill's shirt. "He is not from here, he does not know any better."

The gun seller regarded the Caucasian boy, his frowning mustache drooping further and after a few moments, he nodded heavily"Eh...ok...just get him away from my guns."

"Gladly" Estiban replied, and before Bill got a chance to do or say anything on his own behalf, Estiban had snatched the Colt out of his hand and replaced it on the brown felt. "Let's go Bill" he said darkly, leading the boy roughly away.

"I was just looking Estiban" Bill spoke up sullenly, grimacing under the pressure of the man's unforgiving fingertips in his shoulder"I didn"

"Enough from you" Estiban hissed, continuing to jostle Bill away from the gun table and out of the entire street fair. "You are not to get a gun at such a young age" he reiterated, thankfully letting go of Bill's throbbing shoulder to dig out a pack of cigarettes from his tweed jacket pocket.

Bill scowled, watching in sullen regret as the bright and festive fair was left behind for the dirty, hot, depressing streets. He didn't understand why Estiban thought him too young to have a gun. Estiban apparently didn't think he was too young to see women beaten, or hear swearing, or know what a whore did. It seemed ridiculous to Bill that he should then not be allowed to own a gun. But, he also knew it was useless to try to continue his protests to Estiban.. He was far smarter than that. He had learned years ago that his father figure, while a man of wordly charms and interests, was also not the kind of man you spoke back to.

"You're listening to me Bill, yes" Estiban said, peering down at the boy, smoke forming a sun brazened halo around his dark features. "No gun. Entender"

"Yes Estiban" Bill replied with the utmost learned tone of obedience. He bent his head down, regarding the brown toes of his boots as they kicked up dirt in his stride. He didn't do this out of defeat; he did it to hide the smirk that threatened to creep onto his face. Estiban was foolish if he thought he could keep him from what he wanted. Bill wanted a gun, and nothing Estiban would do or say could stop him. He was a willful child to say the least, he always had been.

It was only a matter of time, and Bill found himself to be patient when it came to things he knew he'd eventually get anyways. Besides, Estiban would soon learn that there was little he could do to control Bill. Within a few years, Bill's first adopted father would resign to find that nearly all parental attempts were futile and remain at a relatively authoritative distance when it came to matters with the boy.

This relationship seemed to work out just fine in Bill's favor, of course...that is depending on how you define, 'just fine.'

Now, at thirteen Bill had finally managed to get a gun of his own. It was a Colt 45, single action, a big gun, and not all that new, but it was in good condition and it was similar to the gun that he'd first 'fallen for.' It hadn't been all that hard to round up enough cash needed to buy it. He/d stolen some money from Estiban's wallet, shoplifted a few pairs of leather boots from the general store and sold them to a couple of idiotic tourists from Texas. Finally, he had managed to talk one of Estiban's whore's into giving him a percentage of her weekly earnings in exchange for a pack of cigarettes and a handful of dresses that he'd lifted out of an unlocked car the month before.

Needless to say, even then, Bill was a wheeler and a dealer.

Clutching the wad of dirty Paso's, Bill had sought out a local man downtown who was known for selling firearms to just about anybody who had the money to fund his growing alcohol addiction. The gristly old Hispanic bastard didn't give a second thought to selling a pistol to the quiet young Caucasian bastard and sent the boy on his way, armed with the Colt and an old box of bullets.

Bill would never forget that moment, when he finally held his own gun in his hand for the first time. It was nearly as good as that time at the street fair those three years prior, except this time there was nobody around to tell him to put it back. It was his now. He couldn't quite define his obsession with the gun, but he knew this obsession existed with an unchecked tenancy. The gun was a means of power; it was a means to play God with the simple twitch of a finger. Just the routine act of it; aiming down the barrel, the swing of ones arm, the snap back as the bullet fired, the heat that engulfed the weapon...it all spoke to him on some subconscious level, even if he had yet to fully experience it.

Until now, his only real weapon had been his mind. His wit and his cunning had served him well, but now he had another weapon, an exterior weapon. He thought that perhaps someday he would learn how to really use his body as a weapon, but until then, he felt assured at the ability of the gun.

After buying the gun, Bill had wanted desperately to admire it right there on the street corner, but he knew better. Instead, he wrapped the it up in one of his old t-shirts and stuffed it into his rarely used schoolbag as he quickly made his way back across town.

His first stop to show off his new gun was, naturally...Julio's.

Bill and Julio continued to remain close friends after their bonding those two years ago. They even joked now and again about the whole incident revolving around Bill's broken nose. It all seemed like such silly childish stuff to them now, because, of course, they had moved on beyond such petty things.

Julio never really had a permanent home. He drifted from his Aunt Blanca's, to his brother's liquor soaked apartment, to his mother's run down one bedroom home in town, to his father's ranch outside of town. It all depended on who was the least angry with him at the moment. Right now, it was his father who was letting the trouble making fifteen year old stay at his home.

It took Bill nearly an hour to get there, walking along the barren highway that cut across Acuna and out into the farming community under the hot sun. But, the assurance of the gun against his side and the cigarette hanging from his fingers kept him content and he didn't mind the walk so much.

Julio's father's ranch was small and overgrown with weeds. It housed a pair of old sagging horses, a couple of flighty chickens and a trio of scraggily goats. It was far from picturesque. Julio was paid, rather meagerly, by his father to tend to the animals and the grounds while he often was away, usually off gambling in Reno.

So, Bill found it easy to find his friend. Strolling into the welcome shadow of the barn, he spotted Julio sitting on a low stool, sifting through a metal bucket of feed. His wide back was turned away; a broad expanse of checkerboard shirt.

On a wicked whim, Bill quietly removed his newly acquired gun from his schoolbag and began a stealthy prowl across the dirty hey strew floor. He had always been good at sneaking up on people, and Julio was too lost in his work to hear him approach.

"Bang! Your dead" Bill announced, pulling the trigger of the gun; barrel pressed up against Julio's head. A loud, empty click followed.

Julio spun around, knocking the stool over and instinctively shoving Bill away. "Damnit Bill" He shouted, eyes the size of dinner plates. "Don't point that thing at me! Jesucristo! You could have blown my fucking head off" He paused, the reality that Bill was actually holding a gun sinking in, "Wait...where'd you get that"

Bill laughed, brandishing the weapon proudly"From that old boozer, Perez."

Julio threw his hands up, his freight renewed"You could have killed me"

"No, idiot" Bill retorted sharply, peering down the barrel with a smirk"...it's not even loaded."

"So" Julio didn't seem to share in the humor of Bill's amusement"You never know, it could have...that happens. I heard about Paulo's cousin"

"It's not going to become magically loaded Julio" Bill replied in a patronizing tone"Don't be stupid. And besides, I can tell it's not loaded just by picking it up."

"Yeah? Como"

Bill hefted the gun in his palm"By the weight...see" he flicked his wrist, flipping open the chamber. It revealed a honeycomb of six empty cylinders"...no bullets."

Julio didn't seem all that impressed"Well...still, you nearly made me shit myself," he turned a bulky shoulder towards his friend, glaring, "You ano."

"I bet" Bill continued, ignoring Julio's comments"That I could tell how many bullets were in here, just by picking it up."

Julio snorted, bending over to pick up the stool he'd kicked over"Yeah, so...I can drink a pint of tequila in five minutes, big deal Bill."

"You're full of shit Julio," Bill flicked the bullet chamber shut,"Anyways, I think my talent is more useful than yours."

"Shut up Bill. You're a fucking know it all."

"At least I know something."

"At least my mother isn't a whore" Julio's lip twisted"A real prostituta sucia barata"

Bill's expression turned acidic"Are you sure about that? I think I saw her last week, standing there with her b-"

"Stop," Julio jabbed a thick finger into Bill's chest, his eyes flashing with a real sense of anger, but as quickly as it had come on, the look died away and he glanced down at the gun in Bill's hand with curiosity. "Let's go out in the back field and shoot it."

Bill grinned widely, all else forgotten, "Good idea."

The rest of the hot day was spent in violent bliss, as the two boys took turns firing off bullets at random set up targets in the depleted vegetable fields. Bill was pleased that he was already proving to be a good shot.

A month later, on his fourteenth birthday, Bill bought his second gun, a Derringer. From then on, his gun collection would be in competition only to his skill with the weapons themselves.

* * *

As it was with most school going kids, Bill loathed the upcoming ending of the summer months, and he and his friends took this as a cue to do as much as they could, the most they could, in the shortest amount of time possible.

Bill's group of friends, seeing as they were not the square sort, had all started smoking and drinking a little, doing stuff the older kids did. Of course, most of it was just talk, and half of the time they pretended they were drunk when they'd only consumed enough alcohol to give them a little bit of a buzz. But, with the school year approaching, they all felt a 'real' state of drunkenness was needed.

Estiban never had kept too close of tabs on Bill, and it was easy for him, especially during the summer months, to sneak away most evenings and do whatever he wanted. Julio had managed to persuade Raul to let all of them hang out at his apartment. Raul complied, as long as he and his older friends could join in on the boozing festivities. This meant more alcohol and a generally more rowdy time. None of them protested to the arrangement.

This was the first time Bill got really drunk and then really regretted it. He found that alcohol affected him at a very quick rate, no matter how much he'd drink throughout his life. He wondered if perhaps, his father….whoever he was, had been an alcoholic of sorts. This thought first occurred to him, as he was keeled over outside of Raul's apartment, the last remnants of tequila and whiskey leaving his system. And he had thought it tasted bad going down, not to mention, he felt like utter shit.

"You alright Bill?" It was Julio, leaning against the building, lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah," Bill croaked, spitting, "Just peachy."

Julio laughed, "You got drunk way too quick, but you were pretty damn funny while it lasted."

"Really?" Bill finally stood up straight, glancing over his shoulder at his friend, "I don't remember much."

Julio laughed again, "Yeah, good thing too."

Bill groaned, not looking all too amused at this.

"Come on," Julio stepped forward and slapped him on the back, which made Bill grimace further, "You're gunna get a really bad hangover if you don't start drinking again soon."

Bill shot Julio a questionable look, not too sure about that concept, but he went along with it anyways. Well, he would quickly learn to never take Julio up on that one again. The party was apparently a success, but Bill honestly didn't retain too much of it, both mentally and physically. He swore he'd never drink again after that night, but as with most things he swore against during this time, it was a short lived resolution.

* * *

During the beginning of Bill's fourteenth year, he became an avid listener of the radio show, _Have Gun, Will Travel. _It was during those times that he once again found himself lying on the carpet like in his younger more innocent years. He'd bunker down next to the wooden faced radio, hands laced behind his head as he listened intently. _Have Gun, Will Travel_, about a gentleman turned gun fighter set in the old West, captured Bill's full attention, even at his jaded adolescent age. The show was also on the television, and there was a television set in the house. It was still black and white of course, but it was always being hogged by Estiban's whores and Bill never felt inclined to try and share it with them. Plus, there was something magical about the radio, in the way you could imagine what was going on, instead of having it shown to you. To him, the radio was much like the missing frames between the panels of a comic...the ones you had to make up for yourself. Besides, he figured the adventures in his own head were probably better anyways.

It was in the midst of one of Bill's radio listening nights that Julio showed up at the back door, in a frenzy of uncharacteristic excitement. "Come on, get up Bill" He shouted, spotting the younger boy through the many gaping holes in the now familiar screen door.

Bill lifted his chin from his vantage point on the carpet, spotting Julio"Not right now Julio" he grumbled loud enough to be heard"...it's radio night. I'll be out later."

Julio shook his head, fingers clutching onto the worn screen door"Forget that kiddie shit Bill. I've got something great worked out for us."

Bill glared, looking away dismissively, his attention back on the radio"Goddamnit Julio, I just missed a whole bunch of dialogue. Be quiet! I said, I'll come out later." Julio always had something 'cooked up' and most of the time it stunk. Bill was not about to miss his favorite show because of one of Julio's stupid dead end schemes.

"No way" Julio persisted. His voice dropped a little as he pressed his face further against the screen door"Look...I've found these two girls for us...I met them at the new bus station."

Bill quickly rolled onto his stomach to face the door straight on, his attention instantly switching"What"

Julio's trademark smug smile was apparent even the growing dark of the evening"Girls Bill" he crooned"…..lookers too..." he gave the screen door an instant shake"Get up, come on...I'll tell you more about it on the way. I don't know how long they're going to stick around. We've gotta hurry up."

It took Bill less than a minute to grab his shoes and join Julio on the back porch, where they both immediately lit up identical unfiltered cigarettes. Upon Julio's persistent prodding, Bill followed his friend around the side of the large house and up onto the main road.

"So, what's the big deal Julio" Bill muttered between long drags, purposefully downplaying his friend's obvious excitement. "You found some good looking girls, so what?"

Julio shook his head again, cigarette hanging between his mustached lip and newly growing goatee"Not just good looking girls" he exhaled a long stream of smoke"...but good looking girls, who will fuck us……for free."

Bill let out a short bitter laugh"Bullshit. No whores fuck for free." He knew more about prostitutes than probably any kid his age and he was damn sure of that fact.

"No, no...really they will." Julio seemed dead serious about this, and he stopped in his tracks, a hand falling on Bill's forearm, fixing his Caucasian friend with a piercing look"I swear on my father's grave, that's what they said."

Bill smirked at Julio through their shared haze of smoke"Since when is your father dead" He waved a hand with a haughty tilt of his head"You're so full of shit Julio, you always are" he laughed dismissively and resumed walking.

Julio had this way of selectively not hearing what Bill said when it came to matters of logical thought. He played that card at this moment, easily catching up to Bill and continuing on"So, I told them all about us...well the important stuff that is. I also told them that we'd fucked all sorts of women and that we'd fuck them real good too if that's what they wanted……turns out" he grinned, "that's exactly what they want."

This time it was Bill who stopped dead in his tracks"What" He gaped at the taller boy. At fourteen, Bill was quite aware that he hadn't fucked all sorts of women, let alone one woman. Sure, he thought about it allot, but his own hand didn't count. Julio prided himself on having fucked all sorts of girls, but like with many things, Bill did not feel inclined to believe him. "Wait a minute Julio……" he said slowly"….they're going to know I'm a cherry. They'll laugh at me, sure thing." His look turned sharp"I don't want some whore laughing at me." He had already had to deal with his mother, and a houseful of whores...like a pack of trashy sisters, and that was bad enough.

Julio dismissed this concern, obviously hell bent on getting laid that night"Nah, we'll both be fine. Just play it smooth. We'll just fuck 'em and be done with it. No talkin' to them or any shit like that. Just be suave, like that stuff in the dirty magazines." He cast a long look at Bill"There's nothing to worry about, and you always had this way with girls...just be like that."

"Oh sure" Bill replied sarcastically, tossing the bitter end of his cigarette onto the cracked concrete and snubbing it out with the heel of his boot. He had a brief thought of turning around and going back home to the radio. This whole thing sounded bad. He knew what whores were like and they found horny little virgin boys endlessly amusing. He'd seen them, over the years, cackling like hens in their tight little groups, while red eared young men quickly rushed out of the house…..ashamed. Bill didn't want to be like that. Then again, he couldn't deny that he did want to do this. He did want to get laid and here was the opportunity to do so. He knew Julio could be a real idiot, but at this point in his life, Bill was still often willing to play the role of the follower if desired...although, it would be a very short lived phase.

"Alright," he said finally, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets and giving Julio a nod, "…where did you tell them to meet us?"

The two girls, it seemed, were waiting for them at the baseball field. Bill once again wondered why certain events in his life always seemed to center around the stupid baseball field. He was relieved to see that they looked to be about seventeen and from where he stood, pretty good looking, in that easy cheap sort of way. During the walk to the field, he'd had this horrible image of two jaded middle aged whores in his mind, and he sure as hell had no intention of becoming a kid imitating Oedipus.

The two girls stood there in corner of the dirt patched diamond, huddled in whispered conversation as Bill and Julio watched with hands in their pockets like two bashful schoolboys waiting for their first kiss on the cheek. Those days were long past.

Of course, Bill knew what they were doing; most likely they were having an argument over which one of the two young men each was going to fuck. It was a concept that was both humiliating and strangely exciting.

After another two minutes of debate, the two girls broke apart. Bill watched intensely as the darker haired and taller of the two girls approached him. He glared at her, more out of nervousness than anything.

Without preempt, she grabbed his hand and began leading him across the untrimmed dimly lit field. He frowned deeply, letting her drag him along. He didn't like her holding his hand, and he was tempted to snatch it out of her clammy grasp, but with some effort he willed away that desire and continued to let her lead him along. It seemed their destination was the rarely used dugout on the north side of the field; rarely used for what it was intended for at least.

They descended the few steps down into the concrete structure. There was trash everywhere; soda bottles, cigarette butts, yellowed newspapers, even a dingy old sock. Somebody had scrawled something so crude and heinous on the back wall, that even Bill, in his adolescent knowledge, was obligated to give it a momentary shocked stare. The air smelt of ash and stale hot summer dust.

"Come on, over here" the girl beckoned him over to the corner of the dugout, right where the wooden bench ended and a small two foot gap resided before the uneven meeting of the two walls.

With a dark glance, he moved over to the corner to face her. It was oddly lit, where he stood now, in partial shadow. Then, a foot away, the light across the girl's face was cast in a sharp diagonal, which was harshly brought to light by the few remaining stadium lamps dotted unevenly around the field.

The girl pivoted completely around to face him, tossing her purse aside and gave him a quick once over glance, like a burro at the weekend market.

"Your kinda cute...a little skinny and mean looking though" she spoke to him in heavily accented English"Americana boy, I can tell." Her pink painted lips spread to reveal a set of slightly crooked teeth"Haga usted dice español"

"Of course I speak Spanish," he snapped back in quick and fluent dialect"I live here don't I"

"Ok, ok" she sneered"No need to get all mad." She then placed her hands over her thighs, leaning back a little against the bench. "Well, what are waiting for? Take your pants off."

After a moment of hesitation, Bill mechanically bent down and removed his shoes, pausing a few seconds to stare awkwardly at his socked feet; he finally complied and tossed his trousers aside.

"Them too" she gestured to his briefs.

So far, everything had been fairly easy…..now he felt a strong sense of awkward fright. No girl had ever seen him….like this. But, after a drudging moment, adolescent lust won over bashfulness and he pulled off his briefs, throwing them over by his trousers.

He looked down at himself and quickly glanced away, trying to will away the sudden burning redness he felt on his ears.

The girl didn't really seem to notice this one way or another. She laid fully down on the edge of the bench and pulled her tight black skirt over her thick thighs, revealing...well, everything, since she obviously didn't seem to make a habit of wearing underwear.

Bill stood staring, not like he hadn't seen that before, but he never had seen it in person, like this...which was something of a surprise seeing where he'd grown up. There she was, lying there...like that, and she was willing. He took a deep breath, which had no affect whatsoever on his current state of arousal.

The girl lifted her head from the bench, glaring at him over the heap of her chest"Well? Come on and fuck me, and hurry up...I've got other things to do you know."

Licking his lips, Bill started towards her. He brought his hands up to unbutton the top button of his shirt. That seemed like the right thing to do.

"No, no" the girl flapped a hand impatiently, "just bottoms off, no tops. Apresirese! I don't have all night"

With another deep breath, he managed to climb on top of her, suddenly very uncharacteristically unsure of himself. She had willingly laid down on that bench and he really wanted to do this, to do her...but, this, right now...like this, just didn't seem right. This was not at all how he'd pictured it to be. The girl smelled like cheap perfume, the kind they sold at the corner market in that obnoxiously hot pink bottle. And now, looking at her closely, under the harsh stadium lights, she wasn't all that pretty. She had a plain face, disproportionate really. Her makeup was smearing away, revealing patches of uneven skin and dull eyes.

He decided to look at her body instead, which was much nicer. He had an urge to touch her, maybe that would help. But when he tried, she shoved his hand away. He then bent down to kiss her on the neck, but again, she pushed him away.

"No, no, auggh" She huffed out an exasperated breath that smelled like cheap alcohol"Are you stupid chico? Just the fuck"

He nodded silently. Just the fuck...ok, he could do that...couldn't he?

He fumbled for a few seconds, attempting to do just that, but with little success. The girl sat up in annoyance"What the hell are you doing" A knowing look crossed her painted face"Oh, shit." She fell back onto the bench dramatically"I knew it. I knew you were a cherry, you and your big stupid friend...cherries both of you. Just my fucking luck….. getting screwed by some skinny ass white boy, who can't even..." she rolled her eyes in full patronizing fashion and then grabbed him, rather roughly"Here"

Oh...now that seemed right.

It was all over in under a minute.

Gritting his teeth against one last gasp, he collapsed on top of her in elation and pleasure, but she didn't even allow him that, and shoved him completely off of her with a cruel hand.

Backing away from her, he squinted at her with a sudden fierce distaste.

"That was so bad" she said, yanking down her skirt and standing up quickly. "I shoulda charged you for that, so...corto." She gave him a scrutinizing pout of the lips"Go practice with yourself some more and see me again when you've got some muscles or some money...or something."

Turning away, angry, weak-kneed and ashamed, Bill retrieved his removed clothing and put it back on as fast as possible. He could hear the girl, behind him, rummaging through her large cheap looking purse.

He didn't want to look at her; in fact, he never wanted to look at her again. But, as he ascended the dugout steps, he glanced at her over his shoulder. She was holding a small black chipped plastic mirror in front of her face, and was applying a thick coating of pink lipstick on her puckered mouth. He'd never even kissed her, why did she have to put more lipstick on?

She peered at him over the rim of the mirror, "Go on," she chided snidely, "I'm sure your friend is all spent too…."

Once again turning away in disgust, he gladly left her there. Making his way quickly back across he field, he easily caught sight of the lumbering form of Julio emerging from the dark bushes that lined right field. Julio waved and smiled, obviously jubilant.

"How was it?" He grinned, slightly out of breath as he and Bill converged near second base.

"Terrible," Bill replied, but glancing at Julio, he quickly elaborated with a roll of his shoulders, "Eh, it was all right I suppose…." Bill didn't feel the need to tell Julio how he really felt, Julio wouldn't understand. "I've had a better time of it myself though…."

Julio just laughed, slapping Bill on the shoulder, lately very manly in all of his movements, "No way, you've gotta have the pussy Bill……always best that way. Don't worry, you'll get more soon enough…."

Remaining silent, Bill just glanced away, digging his pack of cigarettes of his pocket as they exited the field through a chain link fence and emerged onto the dark street.

"We have to find something to drink now," Julio prattled on amiably, lighting his own cigarette, "Raul tells me it's best to get drunk after you get laid……not before….ya know, that causes….problems sometimes. Know what I mean……..problems?" He laughed obnoxiously.

Nodding absent mindedly, Bill pretended to listen as the two of them strolled into the dusk and on their way to typical underage drinking. But, Bill's heart wasn't really in it and he was distracted the entire evening.

That night he swore he'd never have sex with a woman like that whore ever again. He wanted them all to be beautiful, and not that fake beautiful either. But like the real beautiful ladies in the movies; gorgeous and tall each and every one of them. It would be best if they were blonde too, like Marilyn Monroe, Veronica Lake and Lana Turner. And they would not talk to him like that whore did either, he didn't like that part at all, it made him angry. He wanted them to really want him, not because they were whores, but because he would just be so charming that they couldn't help themselves. He wouldn't even have to be handsome, or strong, or even have money…..although, that would be good too. That was the way things always were in his fantasies at least, and after tonight he knew he had to make his fantasies a reality or he'd never be able to have sex with another woman again.

Well, those were his fourteen year old thoughts at the time. Like most very young men, Bill had a tendency to over idealize what he wanted, and he was doing so even more now. But, throughout his life he would live far closer to that ideal than most men ever dreamed of. He would be a man of many women, a real charmer, a man who proved to live up to a true gentleman's standards, and the seed of that female ideal was naively planted that very night.

* * *

"Mierda, it keeps falling all over the place..." Julio muttered, his large fingers fumbling awkwardly with the rolling paper and the linear heap of marijuana in the middle of it.

"You're a fucking blockhead, that's why" Paulo interjected, his face close to the messy dissected joint laid out on the table in front of him.

Bill sat silently, watching in slightly irritated fascination at this new process of vice. Finally, after months of scheming, Julio had made good on one of his many exaggerated promises and had been able to get some weed from his brother Raul.

Along with Julio, Bill had soon gained Paulo as a friend, much to his disappointment. He had never liked Paulo, even those two years ago with his greasy Elvis hair, and he still didn't like him now, with his stupid Humphrey Bogart hat. Paulo was too much of a follower for Bill's liking, a weak stupid, silly kid who tried to emulate famous people just a little too much. But, Paulo was Julio's lapdog and Bill was forced to take them as a pair.

Sitting around the table there was also Alanzo, Bill's younger friend of many years, and the kid who he'd wrecked Raul's bike for those two years ago. Alanzo was a quiet kid, small and spineless, but he was smart and for that Bill liked him. Along with Alanzo, there was Hector, a tall skinny kid who had moved to Acuna from Guatemala last year and a rough looking boy named Martin, another newcomer who was from Mexico City. It was this group of boys that formed Bill's small gang of friends during these few years. Julio was the brute and Bill was the brains, the rest followed.

Now, they all sat in anticipation in Paulo's dining room, circled around the daisy printed plastic covered table in the afternoon lull of summertime. The small house was silent and still in its state of continuous disarray. Paulo's mother was never home, she worked at the textile mill. He had no siblings and a trucker father who showed up every few months to jump in the sack with his mother and then take off again.

In short, it was the perfect locale to find out once and for all what was so great about Miss Mary Jane. So far, Bill wasn't all too impressed. Smoking cigarettes was probably better, and they all did that anyways, but he was willing to see what all the hoopla was about...that is, if Julio didn't take all damn day to get it ready.

"Here" Bill spoke up in frustration, reaching across the table and snatching the rolling paper out of Julio's clumsy fingers. "Let me try." It couldn't be all that hard to roll a joint, and besides he remembered Estiban's lessons...in particular, the one on how to roll your own tobacco. How much different could this be?

Eyes turned down intensely at his task, Bill folded a small crease along the unglued side of the paper and then quickly sorted the dry green stuff into the crease. Licking the glued side of the paper, he deftly rolled it into a tight cylinder, remembering how John Wayne always rolled his cigarettes in the movies. Realizing this wasn't entirely the solution, he then twisted the whole thing a little, thus ensuring that the loose innards were packed together tightly.

Smiling proudly at the finished product, he held the joint out to Julio and Paulo"There" he announced. Both of them stared back at him with a newfound appreciation.

Julio snatched the joint out of Bill's fingers with a lopsided grin"Let's go light it."

They decided to smoke it behind a church, it was Paulo's idea and it was hardly a picture of smooth coolness.

Julio nearly threw up he choked so badly. Hector and Alanzo both did throw up. Bill fared a little better, but he spent a good two minutes hacking on the thick smoke, his lungs burning. This was no cigarette alright. Still, it all seemed like a waste of good breath…..that was until about fifteen or so minutes later.

All five boys found themselves slouched against the wall of the church, looking at their surroundings with glazed over and far away looks of detachment. Bill couldn't quite place how long they'd been there or exactly what had happened before. But, he felt good, really good, and he decided that he liked this stuff.

"Oh my god" Paulo spun around in slow dizzy circles, squinting at the tall bell of the church silhouetted against the bright blue sky, "...this is so crazy."

"Yeah," Hector mumbled, more interested in his shoelaces than anything else at the moment.

After sometime, Julio and Paulo started in with their "Big Bopper Act." They had been doing it ever since the Bopper's song "Chantilly Lace" started playing on all of the American radio stations. The act was nothing more than Julio breaking out in a rather loud, obnoxious, purposefully inaccurate version of the song, which was only made more obnoxious by his poor English and his tendency to make everything crude. Meanwhile, Paulo would dance around Julio, pretending to be a woman, squealing in glee and feeling up his scrawny chest as if he possessed a pair of knockout breasts. Paulo had always been something of a drama queen, a fact that Bill had pointed out to him on a number of occasions.

Bill hated the Bopper act; he thought it was inane and immature. But, for some reason, right now, it was really damn funny. Supporting himself against the rough wall of the church with a slightly numb arm, he doubled over in laughter as his two friends went into yet another stoned encore of the act.

But, the fun ended abruptly when the irate padre of the church rounded the corner and gave chase to the group of five boys.

Running away with peals of laughter, the group eventually slowed to an unsteady stumble when they were at a safe distance from the church. Bill couldn't quite remember the rest of that afternoon, but he chalked the experience up as a good one……one that he would certainly like to have again.

* * *

Bill had never liked school. It wasn't that he didn't like learning per se, he just didn't like going to school. He loathed having to sit there and be fed a load of information he already knew. Besides, it was always so hot in the school house, so stuffy and bland. There were only a couple rooms in the school building in use, due to the lack of money and teachers, so he was often stuck in classes with kids who were either younger or older than himself.

One thing was for sure though, school was the prime locale to cause trouble and Bill exploited this to his full advantage. Some kids were pranksters; guys like Julio or Paulo. But as Bill got older, he preferred to think of his brand of troublemaking as far more bold, devious and cunning; something that required a little more intellect.

It didn't take long for Bill's reputation as a 'sly no good trickster' to spread amongst the faculty as well as the students. His teachers never trusted him, even though his schoolwork was thorough and well thought out. His infamous list of offences ranged throughout the years, from the outrageous to the typical. This consisted of: forging notes from faculty members, to bringing alcohol to class, threatening other students with blackmail, leaving school in the middle of lectures, blatantly smoking in the hallway, impersonating the principal on the phone, breaking into the restroom supply closet and swapping it with the items from the records office, climbing onto the roof of the school, reading comics during class, organizing a bare knuckles boxing tournament between the 7th and 8th grade boys, kissing a girl on recess, making out with a girl after school but still on school grounds, trading stolen goods for cigarettes with the janitor, disobeying his teachers, talking back to his teachers and general overall extortion of the system. At least, these were the things he got caught doing. He went about all of this very amiably, never making an excuse for himself….taking whatever punishment was delivered upon him with a quiet smirk and no compliant. Somehow, he was never expelled. Perhaps it was because, despite everything, deep down his teachers still liked him.

Still, Bill found school to be tedious and his acting out was most likely a means to keep himself occupied. But, when Bill was fourteen, there became a real reason to enjoy school, in the perfect hourglass form of a girl named Rosalinda Ramos. She was two years older than him and knew Julio, even though Julio had dropped out of school last year. Because of the lack of students in her age group, she along with a handful of her peers had been grouped in with Bill's class that year.

Rosalinda Ramos. Her name alone, with its Spanish roll of the tongue was like a verbalized French kiss. She was breathtaking, with long dark chocolate brown hair that shimmered copper when the sunlight streamed through the school windows at just the right time of day. Her eyes were hazel and slightly slanted giving them an almost feline look. Bill had never seen eyes quite like that before. Her skin was a toned copper and she always seemed to wear her skirt just above regulation height and get away with it. This allowed her perfectly smooth legs to show nearly in full. She moved like a cat, mirroring her feline eyes, back arching, sleek hair rippling over her shoulders, her long fingers deftly running along the tops of the wooden desks as she sauntered down the aisles. Her eyes remaining both angelic and menacing during all of this, while her large lips often were turned up into an intelligent smirk or a bright confident smile, revealing a set of bright white teeth that looked like they could eat a man for breakfast. And her figure, well...she was nothing like the skinny knobby girls Bill's own age, oh no...she was all soft curves and perfectly placed hills of supple flesh. At sixteen, she was a real woman.

She was not only beautiful, but she was witty, cunning, intelligent, seductive, fully capable and sure of herself. Bill knew right away that he wanted her. Even at fourteen, he was completely perceptive to what 'his type' was, while the rest of his schoolmates shyly drooled in the corner over anything that had grabbable breasts. Likewise, he was not shy. Sure, he sat and pined over her for a few weeks, but that was mainly to get a perfectly mapped eyeful of her before he made his move.

It was after this spending of sometime watching her closely, admiring her from afar and having a few casual conversations with her within the limited confines of the classroom; Bill decided it was best to state his intentions. He liked to lie, but he found that some situations were suited better to tell the truth in.

He knew Rosalinda always waited to be picked up by her brother Roberto on the front curb after school. So one typical hot afternoon he went and sat down beside her as she quietly waited in her usual spot.

Settled beside her, she smiled at him out of polite expectancy. She had very good manners, and while she projected sexuality she was never crude or uncouth. Bill knew for sure that she had not been raised in Acuna, she was far too pristine, and he decided he'd ask her where she was from…..later on, when he got to know her better of course.

"Rosalinda" Bill began softly and carefully, letting the word hang in the hot air for a moment. He looked at her directly in those speckled hazel eyes of hers"I would like to tell you something."

Her polite smile froze a little, but she nodded"Of course Bill...we're friends, go ahead."

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen" he said gently, getting right to the point, a hand idly falling on her wrist. It was funny how un-intimidated he felt in this situation. He couldn't say why that was exactly, but Estiban had raised him to be able to speak to women and he'd always been around beautiful women, it just seemed to come to him naturally. Most boys his age could only dream of walking up to Rosalinda Ramos and saying that, but Bill acted as if he was doing her a favor by doing so.

Rosalinda laughed lightly, giving him a playful little shove"And I'm sure you've seen a lot of girls Bill" she chided him sarcastically, obviously not taking his pass all that seriously.

"I have" Bill replied with the utmost stoicism"I've checked around town, a few times actually. I've even watched a few movies with very beautiful women in them, but none of them are as beautiful as you."

Rosalinda's smile faded away, replaced by a look that was far more introspective. Boys were always saying things to her, trying to go out with her, but it was obvious by her expression that she'd never had a fourteen year old boy talk to her in such a way. She blinked, a few times, saying nothing in response.

"So" Bill continued, smiling now...which, when he rarely chose to, was rather pleasant"...I have decided that you and I should go out together, be steady and everything."

"What" Rosalinda's automatic response was one of unexpected shock. She stared at Bill; with his pale Caucasian skin, untrimmed brown hair, serious dark eyes, prominent lower lip, and undeveloped skinny figure...and she started to laugh.

Bill's smile remained, completely unfazed by this reaction"You see, you are the most beautiful girl in Acuna, and so...I must be with you."

Rosilinda continued to laugh, a little mockingly"Bill, are you loco? I hate to be the girl to break this to you, but you aren't exactly the most handsome boy in Acuna. Besides, I don't date kids. No thanks, that was very sweet...but no," she shook her head, "I don't think so."

Bill's smile faded away, but he still appeared undaunted"I'm not a kid Rosilinda, not anymore. But" he shrugged"...that fine. I just wanted to be the one to ask you out, because I know eventually you'll ask me out anyways, I can tell. I was just saving you the time."

This time Rosilinda did not laugh.

She spun around to fully face him, and with a snarl, slapped him right across the face, going from warm to cold in an instant. "You little bastard!" She hissed, "Who do you think you are"

Clutching at his burning cheek, Bill quickly stood up, glaring down at her. He said nothing, but the smoldering look in his eyes said enough.

Rosilinda was likewise quickly up on her feet and in his face, "I would leave me alone if I were you Bill," her eyes narrowed threateningly, "My older brother will kill you if I tell him to, and he's going to be here any minute."

Again he said nothing, but he simply glared at her, face flushed.

"Go away," she snapped, nostrils flared, eyes ablaze. Even now Bill thought she was beautiful. "Please…..." she added in a far more gentle tone.

Nodding silently, he turned away, and re-shouldering his schoolbag he complied with her wish. But, even then….as he walked away across the hot asphalt, he felt confident that that was not the end of him and Rosilinda Ramos.

* * *

During that winter, Bill's mother became very ill. Estiban, as well as a number of the other prostitutes truly feared for her. It seemed that sometimes prostitutes would become really sick, with something that no doctor could determine and they would eventually die. Nobody spoke of what it was and Bill had no clue what was being alluded to anyways.

During all of this, Bill's mother had an odd request; she demanded that her sickbed be moved to Bill's room. Bill was horrified, his room was his domain, his private space, and the last thing he wanted was his possibly terminally ill, whore of a mother, residing there. But, she insisted, stating that his room, being the furthest back in the house and having the most open air would be the healthiest place for her.

So, she was brought in and settled in his bed, his bed, where he spent moments alone with himself. His bed...surrounded by a pinup of Marilyn Monroe, magazine clippings of guns and other weaponry, an old Gene Audrey movie poster, various tacked up comic books and a faded traditional Spanish painting of an Arabian horse that Estiban had given him years ago. Worse, she was lying on his mattress, his mattress...where underneath was stashed a good supply of valuable things he'd shoplifted over the last two years, a bag of marijuana, a stack of dirty magazines, many packs of cigarettes, and a wooden box containing his guns. In short, she was completely invading his space and his world of vice. Unlike many other children, he was utterly inexperienced with the breach of privacy between parent and child. He had always been given a great deal of freedom and this momentary infringement into his life was infuriating.

Estiban was all for this arrangement, siding completely with Bill's mother. After all, she worked hard for him and made him a good deal of money, so if she thought staying in Bill's room would make her better, than he would fully back her. No amount of pleading on Bill's part would change the pimp's mind.

"She will sleep there until she is well" he told Bill sternly"And I will not hear another word otherwise from you."

And that was that.

Now, faced with this exceedingly awkward situation, Bill did his best to avoid his mother...something of which he normally was very good at. He hadn't really talked to her in over six months and the first two days she was in his room he succeeded in his vow of silence. He would quickly stroll in and out to retrieve what he wanted. Many of the times she was asleep, her dark brown hair spread out over his pillow, fever glistening on her pale skin. But, on the third day, she pinned him down with that dark stare of hers as he rapidly shuffled through a pile of comics, hoping to escape before she took any real notice of him.

"Come over here and talk to me Bill" she spoke up softly, but with that unmistakable steel in her voice.

He froze, looking at her from across the expanse of his room. He didn't want to talk to her, and he sure as hell didn't want to come anywhere near her.

"Stop starin' at me boy" she patted the bedside"Come on over here" she drawled in that ridiculously misplaced Southern accent. Bill had always had the distinct feeling that his mother had seen _Gone With The Wind_ one too many times. But, she was certainly no Scarlett O'Hara. He wanted to tell her that, tell her that no matter how charming her drawl, she was still a whore...but he didn't. Years later, Bill would realize that he would have made himself a hypocrite by saying that; finding that no matter how charming his drawl, he was still a killer.

With a constrained sigh, he joined her, sitting awkwardly on his normally very comfortable bed and enduring long seconds of her scrutinizing him under a pair of heavy eyelids.

She shifted against the pillow. "How old are ya now Bill"

"I'm fourteen," he replied blandly, disgusted that she didn't know her own son's age.

"Fourteen" she mused, blinking a few times"Yes...that's right, I remember now." She reached up and stretched her fingertips out towards his cheek. He quickly pulled away, causing her touch to fall short of its mark. "Almost a man now" she continued, letting her hand fall to her side, "You know, I was a mother at your age."

Need she remind him? She used to scream at him when he was small about how he'd destroyed her childhood. "Yes" he said hollowly.

"I may die." She stated.

He stared blankly at the faded afghan lying across her legs. "I know."

"Do ya want me to die Bill? Do ya hate me all that much"

He didn't reply. He did not know what to say. She never talked to him like this, and he chalked it up to her high fever. There was a long silence between mother and son, broken finally by his mother's blunt request.

"You should burn these sheets when I'm done with 'em."

Bill, eyes still downcast, only said"I will."

And that was the extent of their conversation. Bill did not want to talk to his mother, and his mother seemed awkward, in her depleted state, to want to talk to him any further. She never liked to be weak, and even though she sold her body to make money, she always carried herself with a bold haughtiness. She was proud in her status and she seemed to not care one way or another about dying.

But she did not die, in fact, she proved to be a very hearty woman. And soon after her speedy recovery she was back to selling herself on a nightly basis. Everything went back to the way it was before she had gotten sick. Bill got his room back, burnt his sheets as promised, and entered a stretch of silence between him and his mother that, this time around, would last nearly two years.

As much as Bill would have liked to have thought it, he did not want his mother to die then...not there, not like that. The irony of her life was that she would end up outliving both of her sons, one of whom would not be conceived for many more years to come. If Bill had known that then, he would have probably changed his mind about the whole thing...no matter how much he was fond of irony.

* * *

Soon, in the restless wake of the spring months, Julio and Bill hatched their biggest plan to date.

About twenty miles outside of Acuna, up in the low rolling hills sat a landmark of a house owned by an elderly American couple. They were known as the Tanners, the house, not surprisingly, was known amongst the locals as The Tanner House. The house was massive and ornate, done up in true Southwestern style, with a large tiled patio dominated by large cactuses and expensive garden furniture. The rumor was that old man Tanner was a retired Texas oil baron and the house contained wealth beyond the scope of any typical person in Acuna could imagine.

Julio suggested it was time the Tanners were relieved of some of their burdening possessions. Actually, his description was more along the lines of"Let's rob it" as he and Bill were sitting around reading comics one evening in Bill's room.

Bill agreed without a second moral thought.

They spent a good two weeks planning it. After some discussion, they agreed that this would be for them only. Paulo would screw it up, he was too loud. Besides, after seeing some thing on the television about man being able to go into space, he had gotten it in his mind that he had to actually start studying if he wanted to do it as well. He'd had his nose in a book the last three times Bill and Julio had stopped by his house.

The others wouldn't work either. Alanzo was too weak, too nice to rob houses, and he'd most likely squeal. Hector wasn't all that trustworthy and Martin was too stupid.

No, Bill and Julio knew the Tanner house was a two man job. They had to be careful, but they knew the house was isolated enough that it was possible. When they were ready, Julio borrowed Raul's old pickup truck for the evening and he and Bill drove up to the Tanner's. They both had brought bandannas to wrap around their lower faces and baseball caps for their heads, all so they would not be recognized if they were spotted by anybody.

Bill carefully loaded his gun while Julio drove, looking thoughtful in the fading sunlight, "We're the cowboys with black hats now…..." he spoke up softly.

Julio shot him a quizzical look, "What?"

"The good cowboys always wear white hats," Bill elaborated, "…or light colored ones, the bad guys always wear black hats."

Julio laughed, missing the metaphor, "You and the cowboys Bill…..I just don't get it. It's almost the 60's mi amigo, that's old stuff….."

Bill replied with a shrug, not caring much about Julio's opinion on cowboys.

"Besides, I ain't no cowboy, I'm a charro," Julio snorted.

"Same difference," Bill mumbled sullenly, sliding another bullet into the chamber of his gun.

When they pulled up near the Tanner house, it was completely dark inside. That was a very good sign, since both Bill and Julio were hoping that nobody was home; it would be so much easier that way. Julio parked the truck behind a partially standing horse barn that was a good fifty feet from the main house.

Once they had put on their hats and bandanas, the two boys crept stealthily up the slight hillside, keeping low and avoiding the multitude of small cacti dotting the ground. Bill had stuffed his gun into a makeshift holster at his side; he didn't have the real thing yet. Once they'd reached the house, which was even larger than they had first thought, Julio crouched underneath a wide window along the far side, while Bill went around to the front. They'd already worked out the whole plan ahead of time of course.

Julio was an expert at removing windows, and with the help of a small Swiss Army knife, he had the entire window frame removed in less than two minutes. After that, it was just a matter of taking out the screen and the glass. He did all of this very quietly and with a scary amount of professionalism.

As Julio was doing this, Bill posted himself by the front door, peering through the living room curtains of a nearby window, keeping watch for any movement inside. Soon, he spotted Julio inside the house, and as planned, Julio opened the front door from inside, letting Bill in. This provided them with two escape routes if needed.

Once they were both inside, without a spoken word, they began to scour the house for anything that looked valuable. They had both stuffed pillow cases in their back pockets earlier, which would now be used to carry their loot in. Julio took the downstairs, while Bill ascended the steep staircase to see what the upstairs had to offer.

Even though it was now quite dark outside, the moonlight creeping in through the house's many large windows revealed an interior that was very nicely furnished and far from short on items worth tossing into a pillow case. Bill was pretty sure that the old couple's bedroom was upstairs, and he made an extra effort to be quiet as he inched down the framed picture lined hallway. He was still convinced that nobody was home, and upon entering a bedroom with a partially opened door, he headed straight for the rich wood dresser. Glancing at the empty neatly made bed, he flipped open an ornate jewelry box, emptying its shiny contents into his bag. Moving on, he searched through the drawers, in the closet and around the bottom of the bed, finding much more to add to his collection. He hadn't heard a thing from downstairs and could only assume that Julio was having just as much luck as he.

That was, until he heard a loud creak from behind him.

Spinning around, a hand instinctively grabbing for the gun at his side, Bill came face to face with a robed elderly man; this had to be Old Man Tanner of course. In his gnarled hands, he was holding a broomstick. His deep set eyes, which had a slightly far sided myopic look to them, hovered onto Bill unsteadily. He looked tired and shaky.

Gun held out in front of him, Bill attempted to recover his composure. This man was old and nearly blind. There was nothing to be afraid of. He could handle this.

"Put down the broom," Bill croaked, swallowing heavily. As he had planned, he did his best to disguise his English with a bad Hispanic accent. With his hat and bandana in the dark, he could pass as Mexican, and he didn't want the man to know he was white…..he would be easer to point out later on.

After a moment of uncertainty, the old man bent over and tossed aside the broom. He seemed shocked to see a boy with a gun in his house, which was certainly understandable. "Take whatever you want," he said in English, with a voice like a hollow reed, full of wariness and laden with a Texas drawl.

Bill rattled his pillow case full of valuables as if to emphasize he'd already done that without the man's permission, as if he needed it anyways.

Behind the man, another figure quietly appeared….an old woman, in a long nightgown and a face as wary as her husband's. "What's going on Edward?" Her fingers clung to the man's arm, "Oh my god……," she breathed, eyes wide.

Bill's gaze flicked to the woman, and he adjusted the threatening end of his gun to include the couple. His mind was swirling. This was all totally new to him. He didn't know what to do, but he had to do something quick. If only Julio was with him, but no….to hell with Julio, Bill didn't need him and he didn't need help. He could do this.

He adjusted his grip on the gun, "I want both of you……to walk downstairs and sit down on the couch. Don't try to run, don't talk." He did his best to sound confident and in charge.

"Look," the old man began, wrapping a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders, "...take whatever you want boy, just don't-"

"I said, DON'T TALK!" Bill snapped, louder than he had intended, his Hispanic accent slipping momentarily.

Rattled, the old couple turned, and slowly began making their way down the hallway towards the stairs. Bill was closely behind them, gun at their backs. Now that they were turned away, he wiped a good amount of nervous sweat from around his eyes. He wanted to tell them to walk faster, but he felt a sudden sense of pity for their age and kept quiet as they descended the stairs into the living room.

Once the couple was seated, Bill called for Julio, who emerged a few moments later, his pillow case brimming with stolen goods.

He took one look at the old couple and Bill with the gun and swore viciously, "Joder!" He spun around, pivoting nervously, "Let's go……..we've got enough…."

"You won't get away with this," Old Man Tanner spoke up with firm resolve, huddled next to his wife, "I know everybody in Acuna, and everybody knows all the troublemaking boys…."

Bill pulled the hammer back on the revolver without even thinking and aimed it right between the man's eyes, "You won't, if you're dead." His voice suddenly sounded odd to him and he could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage.

"Goddamnit," Julio hissed, already heading for the door, looking uncharacteristically scared, "Don't do it…."

The old woman let out a small sob, head buried in her hands, but her husband simply glared back at Bill. "You're just a boy……," he whispered.

Nostrils flared, Bill pushed the barrel of the gun against the man's wrinkled forehead, execution style.

Julio shook his head, his horrified expression cast in the moonlight, "Jesus….."

Bill said nothing, he just stood there, frozen, his gun pointed at the head of the old man, and at that moment, he was afraid. He was not afraid of the old couple or of what had happened or what could happen. No, he was afraid of himself, afraid that...while he realized could not pull the trigger at that moment, he knew...in a few short years that he could. It was then that he had a strange visual realization; he could see himself strolling into the dimly moonlit doorway behind the old couple. He was a man, he was the man he wanted to be...the man he knew he'd be. His older self was half cast in shadow; a figure of a soon to be reality; with a rake-like smirk and a confident swagger in his step. He swept into the room, and unlike the boy Bill, the man Bill rose up his gun hand in one smooth languid motion and shot both of the old people in the back of the head without an ounce of hesitation or feeling. The momentary flare of the bullet's ignition lit up his dark, hard eyes. He was a smooth shadow, a cold deliverer...he was a killer.

Bill blinked out of his revere, a pool of sweat having formed between his palm and the handle of the revolver. His older self was gone...having never really been there at all, and the old couple remained alive, still staring at the barrel of his gun in pitiful desperation.

Bill took a few slow steps backwards, nearly tripping over the pillow case swinging from his free hand. His gun hand had gone numb, and it took him a moment to fumble the weapon back into the holster at his side.

"Come on!" Julio yelled from behind him, his voice hollow in Bill's ears. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Bill nodded, eyes still riveted on the couple, and that now empty space behind him. With some effort, he turned away and bolted out of the house, close on the heels of Julio. They sprinted back to the truck, tossing their full pillow cases into the truck bed. The tires of the truck spun, as Julio frantically peeled out of their parking place. Bouncing numbly in the passenger's seat, Bill stared blankly out the window on his side of the truck, watching the Tanner house gradually disappear from sight.

"Holy shit!" Julio was exclaiming, as they sped away, "That was crazy! You almost killed those old people, Jesus Christ, you're loco Bill!" His voice was a mixture of shock and excitement, "You looked way cool with that gun though……hah, but holy shit! We've gotta check out our stuff right away…..I can't wait to see what we got! Wait until Paulo hears about this……"

Pretending to listen, like he often did with Julio, Bill leaned against the door, his hand wrapped lovingly around the handle of the gun at this side. He wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, it had all happened so quickly. But, what was clear was how he felt, and dawning upon that…..he was both more frightened and intrigued than he ever had been in his entire life.

A few days later, while in class, Rosilinda Ramos slipped into the desk behind him. She'd said little to him ever since she'd slapped him those couple months ago, reserving her conversations with him to what was required during class time. Bill remained undaunted and simply went back to admiring her as a thing of beauty until a new opportunity presented itself.

But now, she leaned forward, her lips brushing up against his right ear. Bill ceased his quick writing and froze in place, eyes sliding to the side.

"You robbed the Tanner house earlier this week, didn't you" She whispered, warm breath on his skin"I know all about it..." He could feel the amused smile on her face, and fought one of his own.

Of course, Julio had told her...that snitching son of a bitch. But, with Rosilinda Bill found it forgivable. She seemed…..excited over the idea.

He nodded slowly, turning his head just enough to the side to get a sidelong glance at her from under his eyelashes.

"I heard they had tons of nice things in there" she continued in that silky whisper"Do you still have some of it"

Again, Bill nodded slowly.

"Mm" she responded, and with one last hot breath, she leaned back and resumed her schoolwork, leaving still air in her seductive wake.

Facing forward, he took in a deep breath, staring wide eyed at the blackboard and suddenly having no idea what was on it. His schoolwork was entirely forgotten.

The next day, once Bill had pinpointed the desk Rosilinda had decided to use for the day's classes, he slipped a gift into the desk's storage compartment during lunch.

Brushing by her desk once class had resumed, dressed in his best button up shirt, he paused, fingertips splayed across the chipped wood. He smiled softly down at her, "Your pencil is dull" he said blandly"I think you should get another." He then continued nonchalantly down the aisle to where he was sitting.

Watching Rosilinda intensely over the top of his reader, he observed as she opened her desk and instantly paused, Bill knew then that he'd done he right thing. Glancing around, Rosilinda slowly pulled the beautiful silver and turquoise necklace from the confines of the desk and held it lovingly out in front of her chest. There was an audible gasp from her friend, Maria, who was sitting next to her. Casting a look over her shoulder, Rosilinda smiled coyly at him. Smiling in return, and without reservation, Bill then ducked his head back down and resumed his work, quite pleased with himself.

After school, Rosilinda thanked him with a bright grin and a quant kiss on the cheek. Well, it had fallen a little short of his desired response, but at least she was back on friendly terms with him...and for now, that was good enough.

* * *

Estiban had never really had an official"birds and bees" discussion with Bill. Maybe the pimp thought the point was somewhat mot after having raised the boy in a house of prostitution. But, as Bill neared the end of his fourteenth year, they did have a talk...of sorts.

Estiban liked to have his shoes shined at the end of every week and he often took Bill along with him. This was one of their pretend father/son rituals that continued on into Bill's adolescence. After Bill had felt he'd grown out of their 'adventure days' and had recently walked out on one of his dance lessons, the shoe shine time between and he and Estiban remained intact.

"You like girls, yes" Estiban spoke up in English as they sat in the shoe shine booth during a weekend afternoon, a cigarette perched suavely between two brown fingers.

Bill had been intently watching the young shoe shine boy work on his newly acquired brown cowboy boots and he looked up with a surprised laugh"Of course I like girls."

Estiban rolled his cigarette between his teeth, eyeing his quickly maturing protégé"You've...eh...been with a girl yet"

Like many parents, or parental figures, Estiban chose to have this discussion far past the point of poignancy. Bill of course had never told his father figure about being with the prostitute. He knew that Estiban would most likely have found Bill's choice for de-virginization far below his worth; and Bill felt inclined to agree at this point.

"No, not yet," Bill lied, which came as easily as breathing now.

Estiban raised a brow"But you want to? They...eh..." he searched for the right English word"...they excite you"

Bill shrugged, playing it off nonchalantly. "Sure."

Estiban nodded, relishing in a long drag on his cigarette, dark eyes narrowing at Bill"What kind of women do you like then"

"Pretty ones," Bill replied with a smirk.

The pimp chuckled"Of course, only pretty girls for you...yes, that's my Bill...ah" he held up a hand"...you like the blondes," His smile widened knowingly"You have always liked the blondes Bill."

"Yes" Bill couldn't help but return the smile this time"I do like the blondes, quite a bit."

"Not so many blondes in Acuna" Estiban said with obvious disappointment in his voice. "We must go to Texas to find the blondes Bill, lots of blondes in Texas." A shark-like smile split his face"Blondes with really big..." he made the universal large breasts gesture in front of his chest. "...titties and big ass...hrm" he winked at the young man.

Bill forced a perverse expression onto his face, for as fun as it was to talk about 'titties and big ass', he found it somewhat uncomfortable to do so with the man who had raised him...even if that man dealt in sex.

"Well," Estiban began, dismissing the shoe shine boy with a sharp nod. He then leaned back against the wooden bench, taking another long drag from his cigarette, "…since you have not been with a woman yet, I will……give you some advice." His dark eyes twinkled with an adult's forbidden knowledge as he suddenly leaned towards Bill, two cigarette holding fingers prodding into the boy's chest, "I will tell you…..five things….that women……all women," he emphasized with another prod, "…..love….," the word accompanied by a curling wisp of exhaled smoke. He held up a finger, which looked as if it was about to double for something else, "First thing……."

Ten minutes later, emerging from the shoe shine booth, his brown eyes glazed over and large, Estiban's arm wrapped around his shoulders in a very manly fashion, Bill stared straight ahead as he walked…jaw slightly unhinged….the things that had just been told him racing through his mind at a shocking and alluring rate.

Estiban roared with laughter, slapping Bill's shoulders, "Now you understand, yes?"

Bill nodded, still staring wide-eyed and silent.

"That is the key my boy," Estiban continued, "Remember, in knowing what women love, you have better control over them. You must be gentle with them when they are deserving and cruel when they are not." He glanced down at Bill thoughtfully, "I would say…that they are deserving…..most of the time….so you must give them what they love, what they want…..be generous with them and you will not be disappointed. It is in the times, when they are not deserving, that you must remind them of what you are……," his expression turned proud, a look that Bill still cherished, "...that you are a man………that you are the man."

* * *

"Bill, you're being such a fucking asshole!" Julio shouted, standing up from the wooden bench.

For the two years or so of their friendship, Julio had always been the dominant one over Bill; he was two years older, he was bigger and he simply had more clout when it came to the inner workings of juvenile male relationships. But, as Bill was nearing fifteen, the roles started to reverse; Julio was still bigger, still older, but Bill was getting bigger by the day and more importantly, he was far, far smarter than Julio, something which was becoming painfully obvious to everyone. He was far cleverer than Julio could grasp at and Bill began to take advantage of this. He'd trick Julio into things, make subtle insults and tell jokes that went way over his friend's towering head. In short, Bill began to treat Julio in a somewhat snide and patronizing manner. This was the beginning of a lifelong pattern for Bill, something he would repeat with his own brother many years later, and also sadly, the beginning of the end of he and Julio's friendship

This slowly building tension between the two friends culminated one night while hanging out with their friends at a picnic table outside a shabby hamburger diner downtown. It had all started 'innocently' enough; Bill poking fun at Julio, everybody laughing, Julio getting gradually more upset, Bill throwing insults at Julio and soon enough Julio throwing his glass soda bottle at Bill's head. Alanzo, Hector, and Martin had all scattered to a safe distance as the probability of violence rose between the two 'alpha males' of their group.

"I might be a fucking asshole," Bill replied, still seated and staring up haughtily at his friend, "But at least I'm not a moronic fucking asshole."

Julio clenched a fist, kicking the wooden bench backwards, "That's it Bill, I've had it with you," his broad face flushed with anger, "You're not so tough without your gun, and you ain't no vaquero, you never have been. You talk too much, you're crazy and you're nothing more than a muchacho de whie pretending to be one of us. You should just go back to Texas or wherever you came from. Maybe you should go find the bastardo who knocked up your slut mother or maybe you should just fuck her yourself…..I bet she'd like that."

Bill smirked at this, standing up and punting away the glass bottle of Julio's that had fallen to the concrete. Alanzo, Hector and Martin all exchanged glances.

"Do you want to fight?" Bill proposed bluntly.

Julio laughed bitterly, "You're too skinny and I'll whoop you, just like I did those couple years ago…and you cried you're eyes out. The only reason you think you can fight now, is because of what I taught you to do."

There was no missing the red flush in Bill's ears as he pretended to not care. "Show me then….," his voice was barely audible.

Within a split second, Julio had flung himself at Bill, and the two began swinging punches at one another, like two amateur pit fighters, boots scuffling along the asphalt. Alanzo, Hector and Martin began yelling, partially cheering them on, partially trying to convince them to stop.

There was a flurry of muttered curses and badly executed choke holds before Julio slammed Bill into the picnic table by the collar of his shirt, toppling it over in the process. His meaty fist pounded into Bill, but before long, the tables had turned…..literally, as Bill jutted a sharp kick up into Julio's crotch with the heel of his boot and rolling over, pushed the table the other direction right on top of the larger boy. After a moment, Julio kicked the table off of himself, getting up with a scowl and planting a right hook right across Bill's jaw.

Stumbling backwards, blood already smearing his face, Bill returned fire with a sucker punch to Julio's gut. This turned into another close range choke hold struggle that soon turned into a brutal ground struggle. Both boys seemed to be getting more than their share in, and it would be difficult to deem a winner. They were both equally bruised and bloody, and by the time they were both pummeling each other into the ground, it was obvious that neither one was going to 'win'.

At this point, more people had gathered around, consisting mostly of some boys near their age and a few men who'd been passing by. The owner of the hamburger place was there, standing with his arms crossed and looking none too pleased with the situation.

Eventually, a wide shouldered man…who looked like he was probably a migrant worker, reached in and yanked Bill off of Julio. "Ok, enough fighting….," the man stated, holding onto Bill with large hands as the younger man struggled vainly to get away.

Julio pushed himself up on his elbows, blood flowing freely from his nose, right eye partially shut. He glared up at Bill and spat viciously.

Chest heaving and a large split lip dominating his injuries, Bill glared back.

"Fight's over," the diner owner said and pushed the spectators away, "Go home now."

Eventually, the migrant worker let Bill go. Julio had long since limped away, Paulo loyally at his side. Bill sullenly pushed both Hector and Martin out of his way when they tried to talk to him, and he made his way home alone.

It would take a few weeks for Bill and Julio to make amends after that scuffle. But the damage had been done; things would never be the same between them. And, as it turned out, they would never really get much of a chance to anyways.

* * *

Bill's fifteenth birthday had come and gone, and now home from the party with his friends, he was sitting on the back porch of Estiban's place…his home, gradually coming down from being stoned out of his skull. When he'd walked in earlier that night, Estiban had presented him with a birthday gift. It was a knife, a traditional hunting knife, incrusted with various stones that surrounded an engraving of the Mayan God of death, Yum Camil on the bone handle. It was a beautiful weapon and Bill accepted the gift with gratitude, although he found it amusingly ironic coming from a man who had, only years before, been adamant about him not owning a gun. Apparently Estiban had already given up and was now just feeding the fire.

With the unsheathed knife in his hand, Bill had searched around the nearby back lot for something to carve up; a thick branch sufficed. He was aware of how unwise it was to wield a knife while still pretty stoned, but he figured it cut one of his own fingers off, he only had himself to blame.

It was sitting there, carving away on the back porch steps, when of all people, Rosalinda Ramos strolled up.

He glanced up from his work, bleary eyed and frowning, but at the sight of her a smile began to take its place. She stood there, watching him intently in an orange knee-length summer dress, sandals on her tanned feet, hands clasped over her lean torso in a gesture that was both alluringly timid and completely confident.

"Rosilinda" he breathed, setting his carving project aside. While remaining friendly with him after giving her the necklace, she'd said very little to him as the last few weeks of school had passed. He had been sure he wouldn't see her again for sometime.

"Julio told me it was your birthday today" she began, chocolate locks of hair blowing across her face in the soft evening wind, her cat-like hazel eyes peered at him from underneath her curtain of bangs.

Bill nodded, transfixed.

"Do anything special" She took a few steps towards him, her sandals crunching on the dirt.

"Not really" he replied, not bothering to try to recall if it had been special or not.

She sat down on the stairs next to him, dark arms resting on her knees. "What are you doing" She nodded towards the knife in his hand and the recently set aside branch.

"Oh, this" He stared down at the carving as it if had suddenly appeared there"Nothing...important" he said, completely forgetting what he was doing anyways. He was too focused on her to care.

"I see" she said softly, hand slowly reaching out and taking the knife from his hand. Her fingers brushed against his own for a brief moment. She examined the blade under the orange porch light, turning it over, running her fingers along the razor sharp edge. Bill watched her every move, completely intoxicated. "This is a beautiful knife" she spoke up, now holding the hilt firmly in her hand. She then deftly brought it up under his chin, the cool blade point resting against his warm skin.

He continued to watch her with a burning intensity, raising his chin only a fraction in response to her threatening but strangely seductive gesture.

She slowly slid the blade down his neckline, until it rested in the hollow of his throat. After a few long moments of delicious silence, she suddenly leaned over him and slipped the knife into its leather scabbard, almost violently. She then turned on him, face inches from his, "I just want to tell you, that you're a fucking bastard Bill. And I hate you." With that, she leaned in and kissed him with gusto. She tasted like oranges.

After a brief moment of surprise, he returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, a hand instinctually sliding into her long hair as he pressed her against him. She kissed like every young man wanted a girl to kiss, without an ounce of hesitation or shyness…..like she was drowning and only the air he was breathing would keep her alive, or something dramatic like that. Bill's head spun. His entire body reacted instantly. He'd been waiting so long for this and so far it was worth every second of that wait.

He wasn't sure how long this making out had gone on, but eventually she pulled away, and he found his t-shirt partially rolled up his torso, the straps of her dress long having been pulled down, revealing the supple crease of her chest. She gazed at him, her dark eyes rich with devious intentions"I think you should show me your room."

He smirked a little, chest heaving slightly"I think your right."

Clasping onto her hand, he led her around the side of the house and through the alternate entrance that led into the foyer and ultimately his bedroom. They slipped easily past the dirty windows, past the prostitutes, past the selective eye of Estiban and the uncaring persona of his mother. Nobody would have cared anyways.

Throughout that quick lustful stroll, Bill had a bit of an epiphany and seemingly also the last clear thought he'd have for the next few hours:

Women loved the bad guys.


	4. Chap 1 Part 3: Amungst Bastards

Author's Notes - For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

Again, thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter, both comments and crits, I really appreciate it!

Just a few words about the pacing of this story. I'm sorry if this fic is a bit slow for some people, but I really want to try to create some sense of realism, or at the very least quasi-realism in what would be the "Kill Bill universe" Especially in the case of a fic about the life of a character that I feel has allot of territory to explore. I am more interested in the humanity, or perhaps in this case…de-humanization, of a character, than simply rushing through to the 'cool stuff'. Again, I apologize, but that's just what interests me, I've never done quick shot stories very well, it's just not my thing. I promise, some more recognizable chars will show up eventually:)

**Chapter 1**

**The Acuna Boys**

**Part 3**

**Amongst Bastards**

"_Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." – Mae West_

Ciudad Acuna, Mexico. 1962

There was nothing quite like a man begging for his very life.

Many would plea for their lives to Bill over the years. Over time, it would loose some of its appeal; not to mention he would gradually become less and less apt to spare the life in question. But for Bill, at seventeen, this experience was quite something. It was one hell of a natural high. And for a young man who found himself to be exceeding angry, it was one of the few things that really appealed to his current emotional state. He was an intimidator, he was an extorter…..he was not yet a killer, but he was working up to that title; one vice at a time after all.

"Please….," a barkeep, known as Louis, choked between a set of bloody teeth, "Just a few more days, a week at the most…..I swear it! Please…..I know I…," he gagged, "….said that last time, but this time…I swear….next week…."

The man's face, which was literally dripping with sweat, was currently being pressed onto a wooden counter top that served as the bar in his dingy establishment. His stubbly cheeks were smeared with flecks of fresh blood and long established dirt. He wasn't the reputable sort, but he certainly wasn't the sort who held up well to physical threats. His large deep set eyes slid up to peer at the young face of his assailant, "Please….Bill……," he whispered.

Bill gazed down at the man, his brown shoulder length hair falling across his features; which from what was visible, remained an emotionless mask. He was wearing typical cowboy boots, a brown t-shirt and blue jeans. His palm was pushing mercilessly into the back of the Louis's head. In his other hand, a .44 caliber single action pistol was firmly held; the butt of it digging into the rear of the other man's neck. Bill was not yet very tall, and he remained quite skinny, but there seemed to be a personal inner fury that allowed him to manhandle a man twice his size….well, that and a loaded gun.

Behind Bill, stood two other men with guns at the ready. They were both obviously cohort's of Bill's. Both were older, and bigger….but neither moved. They simply stood and watched. Behind them were the few remaining customers in the cantina. Most had fled, but those who stayed now sat stiffly in the shadows; watching silently like the others. The jukebox had been turned off, the tap closed, the glasses lowered. It was utterly still; save for the drama happening by the bar.

Bill tilted his head slightly to the side, lips pursing with some dark sort of irony. "That's funny Louis, since just last week, you told us the same thing," he replied quietly. "I get tired of hearing the same thing over and over again….as does Estiban. What should I tell him Louis? That you are simply too broke to pay up? That your shitty cantina doesn't make a Paso over budget? That……you…….refuse to pay….?" He raised a brow.

Louis sputtered, his fat fingers twitching at his sides, "No….yes….no…..NO!"

With a look of irritation, Bill viciously released his grip on Louis's head, and took a step back. "Bite the bar," he ordered in a flat tone.

Louis turned and stared at the young man, wide eyed. "What?"

Snarling, Bill kicked him in the lower back with the heel of his boot, "I said bite the fucking bar," he indicated the wooden length of bar with his pistol, "…..put your goddamned teeth around it……and bite it, mordedura ello!"

With only a moment of hesitation and a wisp of a grimace, Louis complied. He blinked a few times, waiting in this now rather humiliating position for what was to come to him.

Using the butt of his gun, Bill swiftly struck Louis in the back of the head, slamming the man's teeth against the wood, and subsequently breaking a number of them. Louis let out a garbled yelp and flailed to the ground, spitting out blood and fragments of his own teeth as he did so.

Yanking Louis up by the tuft of his curly hair, Bill threw him bodily back onto the floorboards. He then tucked his pistol under his belt and rolled him over, so that Louis was now staring right up at him.

Bill glared down at the bloody mouthed man, his nostrils flared, "You fuck around with the Acuna Boys……you see, this is what happens….next time, I'll kick in your kneecaps and I hear tell that's a pretty painful thing." He stepped over the fallen man, snatching up a dirty rag off of the bar, "Oh, and don't' try to flee town. We'll find you." He flippantly tossed the rag onto Louis's upturned face. "Just pay up for Christ's sake, .it's far less messy for us both."

Turning, Bill removed a pack a cigarettes from his back jeans pocket and took his time lighting one; as Louis pressed the rag to his mouth in silent misery. Squinting down at the other man through a haze of smoke, Bill smirked, flicking the lit match onto the floor. "Adios Louis, see ya next week…."

And with that bit of well timed drama, Bill swept out of the cantina. The other two stand-by men fell in behind him in a slow saunter of booted footsteps.

"Don't you think that was a little much Bill?" One of them, a somewhat heavyset man with a black patch over his left eye, spoke up as they turned down a dark side street away from the cantina.

"No Carlos." Bill retorted without a glance, "That asshole's been giving Estiban the run around for years. I'm going to make sure that that trend stops. Obviously just threatening him with pain wasn't going to work. Something had to be done."

"Yeah but….," Carlos, pulled his leather vest over his gun holster,"….biting the bar. That's…….."

"I liked it," the other man, a tall scrawny bearded guy by the name of Juan, piped in with a dopey gap toothed grin. "You got real taste Bill….that-

Bill cut him off with a whip like glare. Juan fell silent, scratching at his chin and pretending to find a house they were walking by particularly interesting.

"I bet both of you….a hundred Paso's, Louis pays up in full," Bill stated as the trio continued down the side street.

Carlos and Juan exchanged glances. "Deal," Juan nodded, his gap toothed grin making another appearance.

Bill gave him a fleeting smirk.

The next week Louis paid up….. every Paso, and he never missed a payment from that point on.

* * *

It didn't take much observation to figure out that Bill was no longer the young man who'd somewhat unwittingly managed to woo the beautiful Rosilinda Ramos, had a little fistfight with his best friend outside of a diner, bought his first gun from a drunkard, got stoned behind a church, and rather unsuccessfully screwed a prostitute in a dugout

Oh no, he'd moved far beyond all of that.

He was two years wiser now, two years bigger, and two years meaner. His rough and unguarded childhood had begun to take its full effect. He was no longer an experimenting teenager. At seventeen he was, by all accounts, a criminal.

He was a bastard, but then again….he'd always been.

He was also a very angry young man: angry at his whore of a mother, angry at the life he'd been dealt into, angry at never knowing his father….angry for not quite being a man…but no longer a boy. And this anger began to boil. In time, this anger would dissipate into a far calmer demeanor; into a cool, calculated, dangerous man who knew when, and when not to let his temper get the better of him. But, in the meantime….Bill was a loose cannon. He was a young man with some serious anger problems and seemingly only violent means to get them out. And for what he lacked in physical size he made up in sheer viciousness. He never questioned his tendency for violence. All he knew was that if felt damn good to be mean, and at this point in his life he was all about immediate satisfaction.

Of course, allot of young men Bill's age were angry….angry with the government, angry with civil rights in the southern United States, and the starting of the war in Vietnam. But Bill was completely apathetic to all of those things. He was too self absorbed to care. After all, how could be become the man he wanted to be if was so concerned with those around him? No, his cause and his fight were his own; they always would be.

* * *

So then, who exactly were the Acuna Boys?

The Acuna Boys were in essence a gang; a gang of bastards. They were made up of the fatherless sons of Estiban's whores. Estiban ran the Acuna Boys, and in turn, the Acuna Boys ran Acuna.

When Bill was younger, he'd been completely clueless as to just how much weight Estiban had in Acuna. But, as it turns out, his pimp of a father figure ran nearly all of the illegal trades in the Mexican border town. Estiban had his hands in everything: prostitution…of course, drug trafficking, alcohol shipments and regulating, blackmail, extortion and whatever shady little operation was going on in town at the moment. He sat back at a comfortable distance, reaping the benefits, while the Acuna Boys went about and intimidated those who weren't falling into the grand scheme of things. Some of them owed debts to him; others needed to pay up for protection against not having their dirty secrets exposed. Estiban wasn't just a pimp; he was a businessman, an extortionist and an extremely greedy man. Bill's respect for him grew ten fold.

At sixteen, Bill was officially "ordained" into the Acuna Boys. He'd dropped out of school, which wasn't all that surprising given the time and locale, and naturally his next step was to become part of this group of rough men. At the moment, the gang consisted of about thirteen men; ranging in age from one young fifteen year old to a few pathetic hangers on in their mid-thirties.

Those who made up the Acuna Boys were not only unified in their common ancestry of being bastards of whores, but they all seemed to share a common fondness for crime. Bill fit right into this hierarchy of bastards, and it wasn't all that long before he began to take hold as leader of the group. This was somewhat surprising given his younger age and smaller size, but as his wide eyed fascination with the group quickly dwindled to a dominating dangerous demeanor, they rapidly fell into line behind him. It seemed that Bill possessed an innate talent for leadership; among other things. Estiban was jubilant at this taking of power; seemingly haven given up on Bill taking a more non-violent turn in life sometime ago.

The two men that Bill had been in the cantina with; Juan and Carlos were the two he'd done much of his work with so far, Carlos especially. He and Bill had formed a friendship of sorts, although it was a fairly guarded one. Carlos was in his mid-twenties. He was short and overweight. He'd had his left eye destroyed in some mysterious farming accident as a child. Yet despite his almost comical appearance, he was quite sharp and level headed. Juan on the other hand was a fucking idiot, and Bill was counting the days until he ended up accidentally killing himself.

Needless to say, Bill much preferred being a part of the Acuna Boys than being stuck in school. Now he could make trouble and get away it.

* * *

While it would seem almost silly to take a moment to talk about something as trivial as a hairstyle, it would be Bill's choice of hairstyle that would become part of his lifelong persona, and thus something worth mentioning.

The whole thing came about in an attempt to squeeze more money out of Estiban's somewhat stingy spending money given to him on a monthly basis. This was before he'd dropped out of school and yet to collect from being a part of the Acuna Boys. His monthly allowance wasn't' really an allowance per se, since Bill didn't do much around the house in the way of chores. The money was supposed to be used to buy new socks when needed, an occasional soda, get haircuts; things along those lines. The problem was, it just wasn't enough to do all of that, and still be able to afford to buy cigarettes; even with his occasional pick pocketing and shoplifting profits. He had to cut some corners, or in this case, not cut.

There was only one restroom in the entire house that Bill lived in. And given that a good number of prostitutes lived there, this proved to be a constant source of frustration for him throughout his childhood. He was lucky to get in there and get a shower on a daily basis without some whore pounding on the door telling him to hurry the hell up.

One morning, after getting out of the shower, he took a long moment to stare at himself in the slightly misty and dust encrusted mirror. He was never sure what to make of himself, appearance wise.

A girl at school last year told him he looked "menacing." At the time he wasn't exactly sure if that was a good thing or not. She didn't seem to like him all that much, and he resolved, for a very short time to change his image; combing his hair neatly to the side, plastering the best manly smile he could on his face, and to button his shirt collar all the way up. But it had backfired on him within days and he was quickly back to his stoic expression, unbuttoned shirts and mop of unruly but short hair.

He ran a hand through his currently wet hair. The hair, maybe that was it, it was so….indecisive. Estiban was always ragging on him about getting more haircuts, but it was far more fulfilling to use that designated money for other things. And there was the whole money for cigarettes problem to solve. Now, haircut money certainly didn't cover the cigarette expense gap, but it helped. Plus, Bill remembered seeing a poster a few months back for some up and coming American movie. It had been tacked up to the side of the butcher's shop. The guys in the poster had long hair. Somewhat like girl's hair, but not, because it looked really cool. And they looked tough with it flying around in the wind; like the sort of guys who men didn't mess around with…..but women did.

Still looking at himself in the mirror, Bill threw his bony shoulders back; trying to picture himself with long hair like the guys on that poster. He frowned. It was hard to see it now, but he figured it was worth a shot. He'd just stop having it cut, pocket the money for cigarettes, and see how it turned out.

And with that quick decision, he converted to a hairstyle that would stick with him for pretty much the rest of his life. He was just about to turn sixteen at that point, and now over a year and a half later, his anti-haircut experiment had turned out to be rather successful. The long hair just seemed to fit him. A few years later, lots of men would start growing out their hair, but Bill liked to think of himself as one of the originals.

* * *

Bill's group of friends from the years before had slowly begun to unravel shortly after him and Julio's scuffle outside of the hamburger joint those couple years ago. All of them, save for Alanzo, had dropped out of school and started doing their own things to earn a living and/or cause trouble. Bill of course started running with the Acuna Boys. Julio went into "business" with his older brother Raul…selling drugs, forging ID's and checks…doing whatever was all the rage at the moment. Paulo started hanging out with a group of Columbians who had set up camp in Acuna for awhile. It was rumored he was helping smuggle cocaine into he U.S. Bill wasn't surprised; Paulo seemed like just the kind of guy who would willingly swallow a balloon filled with coke. Martin had started drinking heavily and would disappear for months on end, only to show up smelling like a sewer….begging for a few bucks and a place to sleep.

All in all, they were turning out to be a bunch of fucking losers. Bill wasn't all that surprised on that account either. He of course wasn't counting himself in that category.

Every few months he and Julio would meet up and hang out for a few hours. They'd catch up: share a joint, a few beers if they could get them, or at the very least smoke some cigarettes.

In particular, Bill always remembered one conversation he had with Julio. It took place in the late spring. Bill had just gotten back from a couple of days in El Paso, where he'd made a little surprise call on a hotel owner in debt to Estiban. This time, no biting of the bar was needed, just a few well placed threats….and a Colt 45.

Julio had phoned while he was away, leaving a message about wanting to chat for a bit when Bill got the chance. So, at the end of the week, in the late afternoon, Julio stopped by; parking his truck in the back lot behind the house. Bill met him there, and they sat down on the back steps; the very same steps that Rosilinda Ramos had approached him on those two years ago. Bill had always had a fondness for those steps ever since then. They had in many ways replaced the screen door he used to always sit behind as a boy.

It was good to see Julio again. He was even taller than before, and he still had that manly mustache and goatee that Bill used to envy so much. He was the same as he'd always been: a slightly clumsy, chatty brute with a shadier side to him. But, there was also something different about him now, something….softer, and Bill couldn't quite put his finger on it.

They'd been having a couple of smokes and swapping idle conversation when Julio suddenly grew atypically quiet.

"I'm gettin' married Bill," he spoke up, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Bill raised a brow, swinging his head around in surprise, "You're shitting me?" The look on Julio's face answered that question. "Who's the lucky gal?"

"Her name's Elizabeth, she lives just outside of Tijuana. I met her a couple months ago when Raul and I were over there picking up some fraudulent supplies" He smiled inwardly, "She's so beautiful Bill……you'd love her…..and she's really sweet. I call her Lizzie. We're gunna get married at the end of the summer. There's that small chapel off the highway, ya know the light brown one with the big copper bell? We're gunna have it there. I even had to ask her dad's permission and all that kind of old fashioned shit."

Julio…married? Bill laughed, despite his best efforts to be serious with the moment. He shook his head, "Goddamnit, I never thought I'd see this happen to you." He made it sound as if it were some form of punishment.

Julio laughed, a little uncomfortably, "I know, it's pretty wild huh? Next thing you know, your gunna get married Bill."

"Fuck no!" Bill spat, tossing his cigarette butt away in disgust, "I'm not the marrying type." He kicked the smoldering discarded cigarette with the toe of his boot to emphasize the point.

Julio's dark eyes twinkled as he smiled at his friend, "Oh…you just wait Bill," he turned and gazed across the skyline, almost dreamlike, "That right girl comes along…….and you'll be changin' your mind real quick…..you just wait and see. Girls love you; it's only a matter of time before that right one shows up and tames you."

Bill always thought Julio over idealized just how much girls liked him, but he appreciated the compliment anyways. He snorted, giving his friend a haughtily skeptical look as he lit up another cigarette, "Gah, don't ever use the word….'tame' again. And, well….she'd have to be one hell of a woman," he muttered, flicking the smoking match away into the gravel.

Julio laughed heartily; teeth flashing under his mustache, "That she would Bill…….," his toothy smile widened into another genuine chuckle, "….that she would…."

After that, the conversation turned away from such serious matters and onto things of far more immediate importance, such as: cars, guns, films, and how to properly forge checks.

It was well beyond dusk when Julio finally stood to leave. He had to meet Raul. They were heading into The States to do some business in New Mexico and wanted to get a good nights start on driving.

He and Bill exchanged their usual shoulder slap and handshake. Julio once again mentioned his wedding date, muttering something about having to make Raul the best man….but how he had really wanted Bill do to it. "Family loyalty, you know…," he shrugged. Then, he turned and left, lumbering into his beat up truck and pulling out of the lot. Bill offered a brief wave as he stood and watched the truck's taillights disappear into the dark.

Besides Julio announcing he was getting married, the whole visit had seemed pretty typical. Yet, Bill would specifically remember this conversation with Julio because it would not only be the last time he'd talk to his friend, but it would be the last time he'd ever see him alive.

* * *

And of course, there were the girls….or where they women now? Even their status, along with his own, seemed confusing to Bill at the moment.

After getting together the summer of his fifteenth year with Rosilinda Ramos, she had ended up moved away only a few months later. Her and Bill had had a good time while it had lasted though. They spent most if it fucking, and when not doing that; talking. Rosilinda was a smart girl and her and Bill ended up sharing many common interests; she even liked comics. But, soon her father, who was a wealthy textile factory owner, decided to pack up his family and move to South L.A. Neither Bill nor Rosilinda shed a tear over their parting, they'd had their time together…..and that was that. They both knew it had been nothing more than a lustful little teenage fling anyways, and they were ready to move on.

After Rosilinda left, Bill went out/slept with a few other random girls; none of them even nearly as charming as Rosilinda though. His childish strike on sex that he made to himself after the incident with whore obviously didn't last all that long, but the ideal derived from it was still there……it was just that none of them lived up to it.

Then when he was sixteen Bill became acquainted with a woman named Rhonda. She was older, being twenty-one, and she worked in one of Acuna's many bars. She wasn't Hispanic; she was in fact from Texas, and Bill's first real blonde. She was also a woman who liked her men and didn't like just choosing one. Bill didn't mind in the slightest that he was just one of many to share her affections. He was happy to be her boy toy for the time being; because she certainly measured up this ideal. She was stunning; with her golden spun hair, long legs, perfect chest, and a drawl that could make you want to embody the very state of Texas. She looked like some sinful love child between Marilyn Monroe and Anne Baxter, only ten times as alluring. Because she wasn't some pin up on the wall; she was the real deal. It was no wonder she could get any man she wanted. She was almost too good to be true; gorgeous, sexy, lustful, ready to please, and in turn, completely lacking any need of real responsibility.

She showed Bill a thing or five about what is was like to be with a woman. Estiban had certainly kept no secret to him about what went on in his business and he was no stranger to sex. But with Rhonda, he got a little more up close and personal with the whole experience.

She also showered him with attention, fawning on him; slipping him free drinks, free smokes, not to mention free sex. Bill had to admit he loved it. She used to call him her "gypsy boy," which really didn't make much damn sense to him at the time. He sure didn't look much like any gypsy boy he'd ever seen, but he deduced later on she was probably talking about his general persona than anything else.

He and some of the other Acuna Boys would often go hang out at the bar she worked at. Nobody gave a damn that Bill was underage. They drank, played cards and smoked; bumping nickels out of the jukebox and scratching the felt on the pool tables.

Rhonda would then saunter over at the end of her shift and snatch up Bill by the arm. She had an apartment above the bar. Wearing the biggest shit eating grin he could muster, he'd leer at his buddies over his shoulder as she led him upstairs. It was almost like she was one of those whores in an old west saloon, and Bill always secretly relished in that thought. There was something slightly subversive and dirty about the whole thing.

Eventually Rhonda left town, like so many do; onto another town and another group of young men at her beckon call. But Bill didn't so easily forget her. Even a good ten years later, when he heard that damn Cher song, "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" he was strangely reminded of Rhonda. She simply wasn't the type of woman a young man easily forgot; she was that damn good.

But since Rhonda had left, Bill had been having something of a dry spell with women. Or perhaps he was just too absorbed with his accumulating criminal activities to make much time for them. He found women could be very distracting and he hadn't quite learned to temper that distraction just yet. Either way, he wasn't all too consumed with his lack of female attentions at the moment.

Of course, as things would have it, that would most likely take a turn soon enough.

* * *

"Now, she's beautiful…….," Bill halted in his tracks, eyes falling on a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette split window coupe that was parked along the side of the downtown five and dime store. It was a sleek, two door sports car with exhaust vents in the hood, a sloping triangular shaped trunk, and the distinctive split rear window.

Bill and Carlos had been out around town, picking up a few stray payments for Estiban, when they passed by the five and dime; and subsequently the Corvette. It was well past sundown, but the streetlamp above the car did it well enough justice.

"Why do you call the car a 'she'?" Carlos asked from beside Bill, brow furrowed. "It's a thing….an 'it'."

"Oh no….," Bill crooned, tossing away his cigarette and sweeping in closer to inspect the vehicle. "This is a she…..just look at the curves….the design….." He leaned in eagerly, peering past the reflections on the glass and into the leather interior.

"It's……..she's kinda small." Carlos spoke up from behind him.

"She's perfect."

Carlos laughed, "What, are you gunna fuck her Bill?"

"No, I'm going to drive her."

"What?"

Bill straightened up, turning to grin at Carlos deviously, "Stupid fucker left his keys in the ignition."

Carlos shook his head, knowing that look in Bill's eyes all too well, "Don't' do it Bill…..I'm sure whoever owns this, just ran inside to get some milk or something….they'll be back any second."

"Oh, I'm doing it….," Bill retorted, and with a sly leer, popped open the driver's side door and slid into the leather seat. "We're just gunna take her for a little drive…..we'll bring her back."

"I dunno…..." Carlos walked around the front and inspected the bumper, throwing a nervous glance at the nearby store, "…. these are US plates."

"And that means what?" Bill said flippantly from the driver's seat, "I don't give a shit if the plates are from the US or fucking Japan. Stop standing there and get in, hurry up!"

Looking pensive, Carlos complied and hefted his large form into the cramped passenger's side. "I'm too fat for this car…," he grumbled under his breath as Bill smoothly pulled away from the curb and turned down the main street.

"Where are we taking it?" Carlos asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"To the highway of course," Bill replied; his expression one of extreme enjoyment as he steered the sleek car through the streets of Acuna and into the rural outskirts.

Bill had learned to drive with Julio's shitty truck, and he'd driven Estiban's old Morris Minor a few times. But he'd never driven a car like this one before. The car handled beautifully. He could feel the powerful pull of the engine under the press of the pedals, and when he threw it into third gear, a lopsided smile appeared on his face. Bill would have a love affair with cars, amongst other things, throughout his whole life. He loved fast cars…..hell, he just loved going fast. There was just something about the style and the speed of an exquisite fast car that really got to him. It was almost like guns, swords and sex……ah, but then again, not quite as good.

It only took about five minutes to get out onto the expanse of highway. Bill was already going well over the speed limit by the time they got out there, and once he pulled onto the main strip, he gunned it.

Carlos shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's dark…"

"Good," was Bill's only response as he continued to depress the gas petal; his features now set in complete concentration. It was impossible to see much beyond the halo of the headlights, but the yellow lines on the highway began to blur a little as the car continued to pick up speed. The whish of air began to compete in volume with the roar of the engine as Bill threw it into fifth gear.

"Eighty…," Bill announced after a few moments, attention flicking to the speedometer for a brief second. There was no missing the slightly maniacal look in his dark eyes as he did this.

"Yes, I can see the speedometer……" Carlos's shaking voice betrayed his growing nervousness.

"Eighty five…….," Bill muttered over the increasing rush of wind and engine roar.

"Ok…..that's fast enough……"

"Ninety……"

"…..Ninety-fi-"

"FUCK!"

And there it was; suddenly appearing in the headlights like a flashing desert hallucination. But this was no hallucination, this was another car; sitting out idly in the middle of the highway. It was impossible to tell much else about it in those few seconds; except for the flash of metal and the orange glow of rear reflectors.

Scowling, Bill spun the wheel, wrenching it in a complete 360 degree circle, while simultaneously slamming on the brakes. Both of them were thrown to the side. With a teeth rattling squeal, the car went into a full spin, going up on two tires for a brief second before ending its spin by slamming up against the side of the other car. It wasn't a full impact hit though. But it was enough to cause a good dose of sparks, cracked glass, dents, and scraped paint.

For a few seconds there was no sound except for the creaking of metal, and the soft hiss of exhaust. Carlos peeled his hands from over his face and pushed himself up in the passenger's seat; his one pupil dilated to size of a pinhead

Bill threw his head back and laughed.

Carlos turned and gaped at him, his one eye now nearly bulging from his head, "JESUS CHRIST!" He roared, his voice cracking, "YOU ALMOST FUCKING KILLED US!"

Bill smirked, seemingly unfazed by any of this, "Come on Carlos, that didn't turn you on?"

"What….? NO!" Carlos slammed a hand down on the dashboard, "Bill, shut the fuck up…..seriously, stop joking around….." he wiped a shaky hand across his pudgy sweat glistened face. "I think I almost pissed myself."

"Calm the fuck down man…….if it was you driving, we would be dead," Bill craned his neck to look over into the cracked windows of the other car, "Good thing I know what I'm doing….," he added smugly, "…and that I have two eyes."

Carlos took a deep breath, not bothering to respond to any of that. "Let's just get the hell out of here….I don't think anybody's in the other car."

Pursing his lips, Bill continued to peer into the other vehicle. He looked as if he was going to argue, but then he turned back to the steering wheel, "Alirght….," he turned the ignition and the engine turned over with just a fraction of hesitation. As Bill pulled away from the other car, a loud spine tingling squealing ensued; along with allot of falling glass. But, they managed to pull away in one piece and turn back around towards Acuna.

Carlos attempted to put himself together as they headed back, while Bill simply frowned. "I wonder what was going on with that abandoned car?" he murmured.

"I don't' know, and I don't care," Carlos shot back crossly.

"Mrm, well it was your stupid fucking idea anyways."

Carlos shot Bill a glare that spoke volumes, even with just one eye.

They left the car right outside of the downtown area, with the keys in the ignition just like they'd found it. Bill was tempted to do something witty: write a note, or set up some sort of prank for the owner, but he figured that the condition of the car itself was enough of a prank on its own.

As Bill and Carlos sauntered away from the damaged Corvette and back into town, the bigger man spoke up "So, if that car was a 'she' Bill, is that how you'd treat a real woman then?" He was always coming up with strange metaphorical questions.

Bill smirked, eyes flashing under the streetlamps, "No, I'd get allot more mileage out of her before I crashed and burned."

* * *

Despite all of Bill's posturing and intimidation tactics, he hadn't actually killed anyone at this point. It seemed that event was not meant to happen just yet. He sure as hell acted like he had, but he was not yet a killer; in the literal sense.

It was in a bar outside of Austin, Texas that he came as close to killing somebody, and getting himself killed as he had thus far. The whole episode was not exactly an enjoyable one either

He and Carlos had been in Austin, buying some supplies for Estiban, and doing some sight seeing along the way, when they stopped into the bar. It was your typical cowboy bar, full of good 'ol boys and local factory workers. Johnny Cash's _Don't Take Your Guns To Town _was playing on the jukebox when he and Carlos had strolled into the dimly lit establishment.

Bill had used a fake Texas ID, a gift from Julio, to order drinks for himself. Yet, it seemed almost a waste, as they didn't seem to care all that much in a place like this. He was sporting a newly purchased hat. A brown suede cowboy hat with the sides of the brim rolled up and the front and back pulled down in a Southwestern style. Carlos, who was still hung over from the night before, slumped onto the stool next to him as Bill ordered; refusing to drink anything but water.

He and Carlos had been there for nearly an hour, and Bill had already downed four shots of whiskey and was now working on a pint of lager, when the trouble started. They'd been speaking Spanish amongst themselves, but then drawling English dialogue interrupted them.

"Whats we got here boys?" It was a voice dripping with ignorance and stereotypical redneck tonality.

Bill glanced over his shoulder, the brim of his hat pulled down over the majority of his face. He was more than a little tipsy, and it took him a moment to connect the voice with the figure behind him.

The voice belonged to the kind of man you'd expect it from. A big dumb looking asshole; wearing a trucker's cap, a sweat stained t-shirt and a belt buckle nearly the size of his gut. He was flanked by two other men of similar make.

The man in the center leered, revealing a set of chew stained teeth, "We ain't seen you two around here before? Where you boys from?"

"Acuna, Mexico," Carlos replied in his faulty English, always one to try and be optimistically reasonable.

"Acuna, Mexico? Here that's a real shithole." The man jammed his fingers in his belt loops, "No spicks ever come in this bar." His watery blue eyes drifted to Bill. "But you ain't no spick."

Bill continued to glare over his shoulder, his lit cigarette burning idly between his lips. He could feel an anger and alcohol induced flush creep up his neck.

The large Texan laughed, "Hah! Look at you boy……a real cool cowboy ain't ya?" He took a few steps towards Bill, his leer widening, "So you're a long haired tough guy eh?" He turned to his buddies, "Lookie boys….we've got fuckin' Wild Bill Hickok sittin' at the bar here!"

Bill's lip turned up a little, taking that as a compliment.

"Or maybe," the man turned back to Bill, his leer disappearing, "….you're just some long haired beatnik cocksucker in a pretty hat eh? This is the wrong sorta joint to pick up faggots in boy."

That, on the other hand, Bill did not take as a compliment.

He slowly stood up, pushing away his beer mug, and turned to face the three men. The flush he'd felt before was beginning to grow into truly hostile feelings.

The man laughed again, "Ooooo, whatcha gunna do….stare me down ta death?" He gave Bill a quick once over, "You ain't even old enough to be in here….yer just a fuckin' kid."

"A fuckin' kid who's gunna kick your ass if you don't leave us the hell alone," Bill said softly; his fists balling up at his sides. He felt Carlos's hand clasp onto his shoulder, "Don't' do it Bill……let's just leave….," he hissed. But Bill shrugged off the hand of reason, he was too angry now to think about leaving without doing some damage. His temper had been lit, and it was the kind of fire could only be extinguished by burning itself out….and anything that touched it.

The Texan pointed a meaty finger at Carlos, "Yeah doughboy…you shut up…..fuckin' pirate eye spick. Yer next, after this queer."

Bill's nostrils flared as he violently tossed aside his cigarette.

The Texan chewed on the inside of his cheek as he turned his attention back to Bill, "Well, we gunna have ourselves a real old school cowboy brawl now eh? Get rid of that fuckin' shit kicker hat first…," he reached out and flipped the hat off of Bill's head.

"Oh, we'll have a real old school cowboy brawl alright," Bill said in an eerily calm tone, producing a large knife from its sheath underneath his jacket. It wasn't quite as big as a Bowie knife, but it was pretty damn close.

Somebody whistled from the corner of the watching crowd; which had grown hushed as the prospect of a fight became more promising.

The bartender quickly rushed over, "Hey….kid, take the blade and the fight outside. I don't want that kinda shit in here."

Bill ignored the bartender; glare completely focused on the large Texan in front of him; the knife held confidently in his hand. In truth, he didn't really know how to use the thing all that well; but it looked menacing and it could certainly cut the shit out of somebody. How hard could it be to wield a big knife anyways?

"Now that's a nice blade there….," the large Texan observed, exchanging glances with his two buddies. "But, I don't need that sorta shit….I've got two of these," he rose his two massive fists up in front of his face. "And I'm gunna show ya just what they taste like…"

He took a massive swing at Bill, which was so blatantly telegraphed, Bill easily dodged out of the way.

Ducking down low, Bill then came at him with a series of slashes. He managed to cut a long tear through the man's jeans, near the calf. But that was all. And he in turn received a sucker punch to the gut and a second to the face. The man hit like a fucking boxer, and Bill stumbled backwards; nearly tripping in a sudden state of dizziness. He sucked in a gasp of air and desperately tried to hold onto the knife. His ears were ringing, and he could feel a trickle of blood coming from his suddenly numb split open cheek.

Attempting to shake it off, he dove at the man again; knife swinging. This time the man grabbed at his knife arm, and twisted it backwards. But Bill was quick to turn that around, reversing the motion and wrapping the man's arm around his own back. He pushed up on the man's wrist with every ounce of strength he could muster. There was a sickening pop from underneath the man's skin and he let out a loud yelp.

But Bill had little time to enjoy this small victory, as he was attacked from behind by the Texan's two buddies. One kicked his legs out from underneath him, as the other delivered a punch to the back of his head. In the process of being slammed onto the ground, he let go of the knife.

Meanwhile, the bartender had bustled over to the desk phone…calling the cops. Carlos, who had remained out of the fight thus far, saw this happening. With a curse, he turned back to the action with a frantic look on his face. He had to do something.

The ringleader of Bill's attackers had gotten his wits back together. Clutching onto his injured arm, he attempted to stomp on Bill's ribs. Bill managed to roll out of the way just in time and replied with an upward kick to the man's inner thigh.

"Fucker!" The man yelled, and dove for Bill's nearby dropped knife.

Bill scrambled to his feet, firsts in front of him. He glared furiously as his weapon was hijacked by the large Texan.

"Well now….looks like it's my blade now," the man drawled, flashing the weapon, "You grab him boys……I'll do the rest…."

Like hell Bill was going to let that happen, and when the two other men attempted to flank him he turned and punched one in the face. He then spun and kicked the other man in the knees; causing him to drop.

"Alright….I'll do it myself," the large Texan sneered, diving at Bill with the knife. The man caught him in the chest with his knee, and the two of them fell back against the bar; knocking bottles and glasses over in their wake.

There was a momentary struggle, as the larger man pressed Bill down against the top of the bar, and Bill pressed back…teeth grated in extrusion. The knife was hovering just above his sweat and blood smeared face.

With one last shove Bill managed to heave the man off of him; but not without consequence. Realizing he was about to be put off balance, the large Texan slashed out with the blade and caught Bill right across the stomach on his way to the ground. He toppled to the floor, slamming his head against the wooden boards.

Bill felt his flesh split open; a truly bizarre sensation. While it wasn't too deep of a cut, maybe a quarter of an inch, it was lengthy, spanning horizontally across his entire lower torso. It was immensely painful. This was a new kind of pain to Bill; one that he had yet to fully experience, but one he'd experience many, many more times throughout his life. Blood immediately began oozing out and spreading across his white t-shirt.

"Fuck!" he managed; slowly sliding off the bar and into a crouch on the ground.

Carlos was instantly at his side, "Oh shit…..OK…you're fine on…..let's get out of here now…"

Hugging himself, Bill rolled forward onto his knees, supporting himself with one hand, "No…..." he gasped, hair falling over his face.

Carlos tried to help him to his feet, "The bartender called the cops, they're going to be here any minute. We have to leave!"

Bill just shook his head, watching droplets of his own blood trickle onto the floor through nearly closed eyes.

The large Texan was being seen to by his two buddies; both of whom were nursing their own wounds. It was only a matter of time before they would be back on their feet.

Then there was a ruckus at the front door, as four uniformed Austin County police officers burst into the bar. People scattered out of the way; many of them bolting out the building completely.

Carlos looked on with his one wide eye, "Shit…"

Bill didn't have to be looking to know that the cops had shown up. He shoved Carlos away with hand he'd been using to press against his wound. "Get out of here Carlos….," he hissed, "….slip out the kitchen exit….get back to Acuna…..tell Estiban what happened."

"What about the cops?" He still hovered next to Bill.

"Fuck the cops!" Bill spat back, "I said get out of here!"

Reluctantly, Carlos stood up, and with a surprising amount of agility for a man his size, he leapt over the glass strewn bar and sprinted back towards the kitchen doors.

The three Texans were on their feet now and being cuffed by the cops. They didn't seem to be protesting all that much; either because they were too out of it to care, or they simply knew better. Two of the policemen escorted them out, as the other two approached Bill.

Still crouching in front of the bar, Bill could hear their booted footsteps coming up to him. His heart was thudding against his chest; teeth clenched together so hard that he was sure they were going to crack. He was in pain, he was irate…..beyond any sort of reasonable thought, and he fucking hated cops.

Using every ounce of adrenaline that he had, he managed to stand up straight. He wasn't going to let these assholes take him balled up like some child. He was better than that. This action only caused the cut across his stomach to bleed at a doubled rate, and he swallowed a sudden wave of nausea at the increased pain. Lowering his chin to his chest, he leveled a piercing upturned glare at the approaching officers.

The two men hesitated briefly; the image of this blood soaked, wild haired, furious looking teenager not being exactly being what they had expected.

"Alright kid….," one of them spoke up calmly, holding up a hand, "…just take it easy…" He slowed his approach, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his rear hand. The other cop slowly circled around to Bill's side. "We're just gunna take you in for a bit, let you cool down…," the first officer continued, flipping open the handcuffs.

Bill's menacing glare slid to the handcuffs. Oh no, like fucking hell he was going to let himself be cuffed. He was not going to be locked away. And in his rage induced state, he had every intention of that not happening.

The handcuff wielding cop was right in front of him now, the other right behind him. They'd have him in a matter of seconds if he didn't do something.

Estiban had always told Bill never…ever to hit a cop….that it was a very bad idea.

Bill hit the cop directly in front of him….and he didn't just hit him, he decked the man full in the face. He followed this up by a pouncing elbow to the middle of the man's back as he doubled over in pain that the first blow had caused. The cop collapsed onto the bar floor, Bill's knee landing right on his spine.

Spinning ferociously, Bill attempted to take on the second cop, who was a much larger man than the first. This time, Bill's punch hit only air, as the man dodged out of the way. It was a crucial mistake, and Bill received a sharp jab to his already wounded midsection and a second to his face. He stumbled back in renewed pain; which at this point was making him almost woozy.

"JESUS H. CHRIST!" One of the cops who'd escorted Bill's assailants came barging back into the bar with a roar. He ran in to help his fellow officers.

Bill made a sloppy dive for the cop who'd just hit him. He slipped. He was bleeding all over the place; his white t-shirt almost entirely soaked in crimson. His hands were slippery with both his own sweat and drying blood. He stumbled sideways, blinking away the sudden urge to black out.

All three cops were on him now, two of them at his arms, one trying to pin him down from the rear. The more he struggled, the more the slash across his stomach bled.

"Fuckers! Goddamn fucking pigs!" He spat, teeth bared. But, deep down, he knew he'd lost. He'd lost the moment he'd stood up from the barstool and produced that knife. He'd just learned a vital lesson, amongst others: never produce a weapon in a fight that you are not adept at defending yourself against.

Rapidly losing his adrenaline rush and the will to fight on, the three policemen were finally able to cuff him, drag him outside, and wrestle him into the backseat of a patrol car. Even then, he spent a good two minutes struggling in vain. Then, head lolling in defeat and blood loss, he finally collapsed across the back seat.

He woke up, after what seemed like an eternity, in a hospital ward. His right wrist was handcuffed to the metal fame of the bed. His bloodstained clothing was gone; he was now wearing a hospital gown. His head was swimming with drugs and his own confused thoughts. What the hell had happened?

The dull ache and tightness across his stomach brought it all back. He'd lost it. He'd gone totally ballistic in that bar and now he was here, like this. It was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done and now he was going to pay for it. All those years of dodging responsibly….and now he was going to have to face the music.

Shifting a little, he gingerly touched his stomach with his free hand. He recoiled in pain and revulsion as he felt the distinctive lacing of fine stitching underneath his fingers.

"Oh….fuck…..." he groaned in self misery. In the years to come, he'd look upon himself as acting like a real pussy in that moment. But caught up in the trauma of the 'first time', he reacted in the only way he knew how. As his injuries accrued over the years, so did his tolerance for the whole experience.

The next morning he was transported to the Austin County police house to be booked. He would have much preferred to stay at the hospital. His stitched up wound had died down to a dull ache by late that first evening, and he liked the drugs they were giving him….best of all, there turned out to be allot of really attractive young nurses in his ward who were quite nice to him.

But the cops were hardly as lenient. He soon found himself being ushered into a bare walled, florescent lit room in the back of the police station. His hospital gown had been traded in for a set of county blues.

This would amazingly be the only time in Bill's life he would ever be arrested. He was fingerprinted, filed and ordered to stand for mug shots; holding his own prisoner number tag up under his chin.

It would be a good twenty years before Bill would actually see those mug shots. He acquired them, with his at that point somewhat formidable means, in an effort to erase any or all existence of himself from normal society. At that level in his career, it seemed like an important tactic.

He had laughed at himself when seeing the pictures: with his youthful snub of a nose up in the air, squinty eyes narrowed even further in some sort of Clint Eastwood impersonation, bruised up, looking damn proud of himself, and angry as all hell to boot. Upon viewing them, he verbally noted that his younger self was: "a mean cocky little fucker begging to get a good ass whoopin'."

Like many things in life, the situation was quite amusing in retrospect, but at the moment Bill found it deathly serious.

After being booked, he was muscled down a long hallway and tossed into a small cell.

He quickly learned that he absolutely hated being locked up. The decision that he'd rather die than spend his life in prison was a swift one to make. Prison was, by far, the worst goddamn place he'd ever been in….both physically and psychologically. He felt like a caged animal, and he knew for sure he'd kill himself if he had to be locked up for any length of time. What was the point to living if all you did was rot away in such a hell? He felt as if his very soul was being squelched.

Bill had always hated closed spaces, small rooms and like. He'd been naturally drawn to large rooms, open areas….like the desert. Being in jail now only strengthened this feeling; to the point of it nearly being a phobia. It was something that would stick with him his entire life; cars being perhaps the only exception.

For the first five hours or so he was in the cell he wouldn't sit, he wouldn't lie on the metal slab that was an excuse for a cot….he did nothing but pace the eight foot square area, prowling back and forth. At least he didn't have to deal with the chaffing handcuffs anymore…..but it was little comfort.

As the evening rolled around, a staff sergeant was posted at the small wooden desk a few feet up the hallway from his cell.

Bill peered at the man from the gap between his cell bars. He was a tall, barrel chested man, most likely in his early forties. He had a ruddy cheeked, wholesome look to him; like John Wayne on a good day. But he also looked like he could take down an alligator if he really wanted to. He was wearing the Texan standard issue ten gallon cowboy hat and a nametag that read "Sgt. Robert Wilson." He seemed absorbed in his paperwork, as if it was proving to be quite difficult for him to do.

Realizing he was being watched, the man looked up. His all-American blue eyes narrowed as they fell upon Bill.

"Ya might as well give yerself a rest kid….heal up and snooze on that cot for the night," he drawled in a low friendly tone.

Offering the staff sergeant a vicious glare, Bill said nothing in reply, and turned his back to resume his pacing.

"I'd rather not," he grumbled after a moment.

The sergeant offered a chuckle from his desk, ""Yer gunna dig yerself a trench to China if ya keep that pacin' up boy."

Bill gave the man a wild eyed look, "Well….didn't ya know…that was my plan all along," he drawled back sarcastically, and turned back once again to pace the other direction.

Shaking his head, the sergeant went back to his paperwork.

After another thirty minutes of pacing and having to listen to the sergeant's childlike pencil scrawling, Bill slumped against the bars; succumbing to his own fatigue and irritability. It occurred to him then that he hadn't had a smoke in well over a day. The drugs they'd given him at the hospital had proved to fend off his cravings, but now…as they were beginning to wear off, he was dying for a cigarette.

Once again, he fell still and watched Sergeant Wilson. Surely the man smoked. How could he not, living in Texas and wearing a hat that goddamn big?

"Can I get a smoke from ya?" Bill spoke up through the bars.

Sergeant Wilson looked up from his work. He smiled, "Sure….what's your brand kid?"

"Chesterfields……," but at this point Bill was just about willing to smoke a dirty newspaper filled with dirt.

"Well you're in luck, that's my brand too…." The sergeant stood up, digging a pack of cigarettes from his uniform trouser pocket. He lumbered towards the cell, holding a cigarette out to Bill's outstretched fingers.

Bill brought his face up towards the bars, letting the sergeant light his cigarette with a small silver lighter he'd produced from his breast pocket.

"You're a tough ambre ain't ya?" Wilson observed, as Bill pulled away. "Heard you put up one hell of a fight….bleedin' all over the place."

Frowning, Bill didn't reply. He didn't want to have a fucking conversation with this pig; he just wanted a damn cigarette.

"How's that stichin' holdin' up?" This Sergeant Wilson obviously couldn't take a hint, and he lingered near the front of Bill's cell like an all too friendly but stupid grizzly bear. "Ya know, I've got a boy….., " he leaned his large form against the nearby wall, "….about your age. He'll be graduating from high school this spring. Name's Bobby Jr." He lit up a cigarette of his own; eyes twinkling in admiration of the subject.

Bill sat down on the edge of the cot, inhaling on his newly received cigarette lovingly. He sighed, realizing that he was stuck with this Wilson for the time being. He supposed it was better than talking to himself. Resigned to that fact, he leaned his back up against the far wall, "And I'm sure your Bobby Jr. plays football, loves having his mamma's meat loaf on Sunday evenings, and wants to be a cop just like his pa when he's all grown up."

Missing the bitter sarcasm Wilson smiled, "Well….he does want be a lawman yes….actually, he wants to be a Texas Ranger."

Bill scoffed. Wonderful, just what the world needed was another fucking hard assed Texas Ranger.

"He's a good kid though," Wilson continued on, smoking away, "…..he's been datin' this real nice gal for a few years, Jean…..she's his high school sweetheart. They are both real good about it though, always beim' chaperoned and such."

Bill settled his gaze on the far wall, "He's fucking her," he offered bluntly.

"Oh no….," Wilson shook his large head, "…I already talked to him about….fornicatin' with girls. They're waitin' to get married to do any of that sort of thing."

Bill snorted, "Line of bullshit, he's fucking her."

Wilson straightened up, looking pointedly at Bill, "And why do ya say that kid?"

"Mrm," Bill shrugged, taking a long drag from his cigarette, "I would be."

"But see, you ain't my boy. He's a good kid….you're….."

"A long haired, no good, troublemaking, bastard?" Bill interjected with a smirk.

"Eh, well….," Wilson scratched at his lined forehead underneath his hat brim, "…I just know he wouldn't be doin' that with his girl. I know him better n' that."

"Sure," Bill pivoted towards him on the cot, leaning forward a little, "…well you go and ask him….just ask him flat out. I bet he'll tell you….seein' how he's so loyal to his daddy and all."

Wilson puckered his lips, looking at Bill for a few long seconds. "Alright….," he said finally, coming to a conclusion, "…it's a deal kid. Well," he hefted his belt, "…I should be gettin' back to my work." He nodded, "You get some rest now."

The large man reseated himself at the small desk and got back to his work.

Leering, Bill snubbed his cigarette out against the concrete wall. He then cringed, as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the cot. His wound was beginning to throb again and he didn't have any more drugs to deter the pain. But perhaps Wilson was right, perhaps some sleep would do him good.

The next morning passed without any word of what was going to happen to him, and Bill found it easier to simply remain in the cot. The stitches and the confines of the cell were beginning to take their toll on him. But when Bill spotted the familiar face of Sergeant Wilson appear through the bars, he sat up.

"Well somebody's blown yer bail kid…..," the policeman said, unhooking his keys from his belt loop, "…..count yerself lucky…..not havin' to go to county It's allot worse there.."

Jubilant, Bill crawled out of the cot and waited eagerly at the bars. The fact that he was getting out of the cell nearly making him forget his physical pain.

"I gotta cuff ya first," Wilson remarked, "They told me to….seems ya got the desk jockeys up front spooked a bit. Turn around kid….put yer hands behind yer back."

Smirking, on his own behalf, Bill turned and let Wilson cuff him through the bars.

"So, I talked to my son…like ya told me to," Wilson said quietly as he went about putting on the cuffs, "……..and…..he just sorta…broke down….spilt the beans. He told me everything. Not only about how he was…..doin'….things with Jean, he also told me he's been drinkin' on the weekends and even racin' cars for money every now and then."

Cuffs now securely on his wrists, Bill turned to face the older man. Wilson looked truly distraught over finding out that his son was not the ideal boy he'd thought he was.

"How did you know?" Wilson asked earnestly.

"Simple." Bill replied in a grave tone, sharp gaze conveying something older than his seventeen years, "People are not black and white……and nothing is as good as it seems." He shrugged after a moment, offering the man a half smile, "Don't take it so hard. Could be worse, he could be me."

Wilson made no reply to this; he simply unlocked the cell door and quietly escorted the young man up towards the front of the station. He didn't say another to word to Bill.

Years later, Bill read in the paper about a kid from Texas by the name of Bobby Wilson Jr., who'd went completely off his rocker in Vietnam and blown his brains out in his father's garage with a police issue shotgun. Bill always wondered if that had been the same kindly sergeant's son.

Indeed, nothing is as good as it seems.

Of course, it had been Estiban who'd made his bail. Bill spotted the pimp right away while he was at the front desk, having his cuffs removed and being given back his confiscated belongings. He didn't get the knife back, naturally.

Estiban's dark eyes bore into him from across the room. He motioned towards the front doors with a sharp head bob.

Once they were both outside in the parking lot, Bill trotted to catch up with him; clutching at his stomach, "Why the hell didn't you get me out sooner?" He easily slipped back into speaking Spanish.

Turning on him with a frown, Estiban waved a warning finger, "I am thinking now I should have let you sit in there longer, it would do you some good." He was mad, but he was also calm…and Bill knew from experience that was not a good thing.

"Yeah, well….it was hell." Bill muttered; his words far less brazen than before.

Estiban said nothing, but the look on his face easily read 'boy, you don't know hell.' They both climbed stiffly into Estiban's recently purchased powder blue Ford Galaxie and headed south.

The drive back to Mexico was utterly quiet and heavy with tension. Bill avoided looking at Estiban and resided to glaring out his window at the passing scenery. Both of them smoked in silence.

Once back in Acuna, Bill quickly got out of the car and headed straight for the house. He had every intention of getting to the safety of his room as soon as possible, but Estiban grabbed him from behind and spun him around; fingers digging into his shoulder.

"You, stupid…..fucking…….foolish, boy!" Estiban roared, punctuating each insult with a confident close handed strike across Bill's face.

Despite being taken completely by surprise, Bill took each hit with complete stoicism, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Only his head was moved by the sheer force of Estiban's punches. He kept his face turned to the side for a few long seconds after Estiban had stopped, eyes shut, blood running freely from his left nostril and the corner of his mouth.

Finally, he slowly turned his head back, looking the other man full in the face; his expression practically daring his father figure to hit him again. Estiban hadn't laid a hand on him since he was ten years old; not like this.

The corner of his split lip turned up, "It's not quite the same is it Estiban?" He whispered in a venomous tone, "Hitting a man?"

Estiban took in a deep shaky breath through his flared nostrils, the veins in his temples protruding. But soon his eyes hooded over with worn heavy lids. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, and produced a classic red handkerchief. He held it out. "You're not a man," he muttered as Bill snatched the handkerchief away and applied it to his bleeding face. "A man wouldn't do what you did. That was the act of a boy, a coward…..who cannot control himself. You not only put yourself in danger…you put me and my business in danger. You put the Acuna Boys in danger, and in turn…you put Acuna in danger. On top of having to pay your bail, I had to pay off the three men you attacked, plus the two cops. This so none of them would press charges. Believe me, none of them were the cheap kind of men either."

Bill's defiant look dulled noticeably, and he gradually lowered his eyes to the dusty ground. He nodded silently. Of course, he understood. He'd understood the moment he'd come to his senses. He'd had a good long two days to think about it. He'd acted like a fucking idiot, and he was resigned to agree with Estiban's verbal lashing.

"Come here." Estiban took a step forward, placing a rough palm lovingly against Bill's beaten face, "I never had a son, until I saw you…..," the pimp spoke softly now in English, and with surprising tenderness, "You are that son……I do not know what I would do if something were to happen to you."

Bill nodded again, eyes still downcast as an unexpected lump formed in this throat.

"I love you Bill, as a son," Estiban professed, pulling the skinny young man into a fatherly hug and giving him a few fond slaps on the back. Bill rested his bruised face against Estiban's shoulder, out of both bitter surrender and comfort. He ignored the pain that the embrace caused him in his fresh stitches.

"I'm sorry Estiban," Bill whispered against the man's linen coat, voice quivering. "I realize my mistake now……I apologize for my disobedience." The words came out before he could really think about them.

And there it was; the power that Estiban wielded…to be so cruel and violent one moment and then so loving and compassionate the next; the tyrant to the charmer in a matter of seconds. This was a man who had been controlling women for decades, and running the Acuna Boys for nearly as long. He knew how to get what he wanted and he knew how to punish people for their mistakes.

That is not to say that Bill not deserve some of what he'd received, or that Estiban did not love Bill, or visa versa. But it would be a lie to say that there was no amount of self centered manipulation between the two of them. As the years went on their relationship matured, but they both were corrupted men…and corrupted men rarely share pure relationships. Estiban would in turn, pass many of his traits along to the very same young man he'd both just struck and embraced in less than a minute.

Pulling away, Estiban held Bill away at arm's length. "You look like fucking shit," he said, smiling now.

'No thanks to you', Bill was tempted to say, but instead he nodded, halfheartedly returning the smile.

"Let's go inside….," Estiban steered him towards the house, "….I just bought a shipment of new local tequila. You can be my guinea pig, yes?"

* * *

After the incident in Austin, Bill spent a few weeks resting and healing up. Carlos had felt awful about the whole thing, but Bill kept assuring him that he was not to blame. Bill knew his temper is what had gotten him into all of that shit. He'd always been aware of his temper, and just how bad it was, but never had it been so out of control before.

Yet, it seemed fessing up and becoming aware of his temper was not the full salvation to his problems Three weeks after the whole thing in Austin, Bill was back to wielding the intimidating fist of the Acuna Boys. Two days back in, he broke a guy's arm behind a strip joint, and the next day he broke another man's nose while attempting to get him to pay off an old gambling debt to Estiban.

Apparently it would take a harder knock to get Bill to calm down, and that knock came soon enough.

"Some mujer gorda is at the front door, asking for you Bill," a prostitute by the name of Angela approached him as he was reading on the front couch one evening. She smacked her gum obnoxiously.

"Hrm?" He looked up from the book he'd been reading. It was a book on self defense, or…martial arts….by some ancient Japanese man whose name he couldn't pronounce worth a damn. It had been a good two months since he'd been cut in the bar fight. He now had a large scar across his stomach, and it bothered him greatly every time he looked at it. If he only knew then just how many more scars would join it throughout his lifetime. But he didn't, and he'd now become obsessed with learning how to better defend himself. He'd found the self defense book on a back shelf, while making his bribe collecting rounds to a small thrift store in town. So far, he liked it. "What woman?" He glared at Angela over the rim of the book.

Angela popped a bubble, "A woman….big one, she's crying….," she turned and sauntered away with a jaded roll of her eyes.

Bill stood with a frown, making his way towards the front foyer. It was then that Julio's Aunt Blanca, the rotund woman who had seen to Bill's broken nose all those years ago, burst into the living room. She had always been a jovial sort of lady and she'd always seemed to like him…until now.

She was obviously upset, her face wet with tears, hair tussled and her tiny round eyes honing in right on him like an irate mother hen going in for the kill. She bustled across the living room, her bright colored shawl flittering behind her.

Bill's frown deepened, He set aside his book. He then opened his mouth to say something as she approached, but didn't get the chance.

"HE'S DEAD!" She roared suddenly. Her voice was so loud; Bill swore the very walls of the house had just rattled. She then snatched him by the forearms and shook him violently; her face contorted with sorrow. For a few long moments, all she did was weep, her mouth working to try to speak, her forehead pounding against his chest. He was quite a bit taller than her now. She pulled away. "Julio……he….he is dead…….shot…in the head. He tired to rob a store……in San Diego….the police…..they killed him, my little Julio…..died right on the spot…" Her hands moved up to the collar of Bill's button up shirt and she once again shook him with even more emotion, as she let out a massive sob.

Bill stood dumbfounded, staring down at her tear stained face.

"You did this to him Bill!" She roared up at him, spittle flying from her mouth, "YOU KILLED HIM! You corrupted him…….he was a good boy…….so good…….you made him bad…….you killed him!"

Bill said nothing, he felt nothing. His best friend had died…….his childhood friend, his last tie to a more innocent time….and he felt nothing. Was it the sheer shock of the moment, or perhaps a hint of the sociopathic tendencies to come? It was impossible to tell looking at Bill now, he was impassive; with his, brows knitted, large lower lip down turned at just the slightest angle and sharp eyes focused intensely on a beadwork piece hanging above Aunt Blanca's head. It was all he could do to let her continue to berate him without reacting violently.

Aunt Blanca's hands slowly slipped from his collar, falling sadly to her round hips in defeat.

"My Julio died….., they blew his face off," she whispered in a haunting tone, "…and you have nothing to say to me?"

Swallowing, Bill managed a hunky, "No." His gaze was still averted above her head.

Stepping away in disgust, she brushed past him and headed for the front door. She turned at the last minute to glare at him with pure hatred, and then crossed herself in full Catholic fashion, "Madre Mary, perdóneme. May God have pity on your black soul Bill……," she hissed, "…for only He has the ability to forgive a devil such as you….."

Bill turned to look at her sharply, but she was gone. It was the first time anybody had ever addressed him as a devil, but it would be far from the last.

* * *

Julio's funeral took place in the little light brown chapel outside of town. The very same chapel he was supposed to be married in at the end of that month. Instead, now he was being buried outside of it.

He would just have turned twenty years old.

It was a stale and muggy Sunday afternoon. The sky was a dreary blue stained sepia. Every now and again a bold southern wind would pick up and scatter the hot air, kicking up dust along its way. There was little noise out where the chapel stood, as the highway was virtually deserted; the truckers spending their weekends in respite.

Bill sat in the back of the chapel, where the light of the large stained glass windows refused to touch, and the sorrowful gaze of the altar's Virgin Mary did not gaze upon. Besides, Aunt Blanca refused to let him anywhere near the family's seating area, and he complied without a word of objection. He'd worn his best black boots, slacks, jacket and dress shirt. He knew Julio would have wanted him to. During the service, he mostly kept his head down and scratched idly at the dusty ground with a stick he'd yanked off a tree while on his walk to the chapel. It was easier that way.

Julio's fiancée was there. She wept the entire time, with her head wrapped up in a black shawl and Aunt Blanca's meaty arm around her shoulders. Bill had caught sight of her face briefly as she'd come in. Julio had been right, she was beautiful….even through the puffy eyes and the tear stained cheeks. She was also pregnant, and noticeably so. Upon this realization, Bill found he couldn't look at her anymore and turned his head back down to the dusty floorboards. Soon he set aside the stick that had been in his hand.

In the dust, he'd written, "Mi amigo."

It was when Julio's father, who was blatantly drunk, started to play the accordion, that Bill stood to leave. But when he turned, he bumped right into the chest of Raul, Julio's brute of an older brother.

"I will not kill you inside a chapel," Raul hissed, soft enough to not be heard over the music, "Outside…" he pushed Bill towards the exit, leaving no room for argument. On his way out, he scraped his boot across Bill's dust scrawled words.

Bill didn't have it in him to fight, not now. He let Raul manhandle him like a rag doll, as he was slammed up against the rough outside wall of the chapel. All of the anger and power he'd felt recently was gone; drained from him. At the moment he didn't care if Raul beat his face into the ground.

Raul, with tears welling in his eyes, shoved him once again into the wall, "You fucking bastard! You did this to him…," he snarled.

Bill shook his head with an expression of pity, "No….Raul…..you did this to him. You were the one who taught him everything you knew….you were his older brother….he looked up to you…idolized you….."

"He also looked up to you, you know!" Raul grated, between his crooked set of teeth, "You fucking Americana bastard. He wouldn't fucking shut up about you….it was always 'Bill this' and 'Bill that' I sometimes wondered if he would rather have had you as a brother than me. Motherfucker!"

Bill shook his head again, eyelids drooping, "He loved you Raul….I know he did, I-"

"Shut the fuck up! Don't be talking about love to me, faggot. I've heard more than enough talking from you over the years, demasiado!" His look became murderous, "I'm gunna break more than your fucking nose this time…." He reared back, a massive meaty fist about to pound into Bill's face…..for the second time in his youth. But he paused when a sharp voice interjected from the doorway of the chapel.

"Parada! Leave him be Raul." It was Aunt Blanca, watching darkly from underneath her veil. "You will not dirty your hands on God's soil, especially on that evil boy."

With more than a little glimmer of reluctance in his eyes, Raul pulled away, and lowered his fist. But before he turned away, he muttered under his breath, "I will kill you, bastard."

Bill silently glowered at Raul's back…..which looked very much like Julio's from this angle. But he said nothing, and he did not move until Raul, Aunt Blanca and the rest of Julio's family had solemnly filed out of the chapel. He simply remained there, plastered up against the wall where Raul had left him, his fingers digging into the rough clay, his chest heaving in fury. He could feel his temper broiling now. It was so hard, to hold it back. But somehow he knew he could do it. He had to hold it back. At that moment, he wanted more than anything to attack that disappearing back of Raul's. He'd deliver two quick jabs to Raul's kidneys…….and then put him in a choke hold. He'd let him feel pain, real pain…pain unlike he'd ever known. Then he'd slowly squeeze his neck until it was nothing more than a deflated piece of bruised flesh. He'd fucking kill him with his bare hands. He knew he could do it.

He remained stock still for a good five minutes, awash in utter fury, every muscle in his body clenched up. And then….slowly…it passed. Sure, the anger was still there, simmering….but the rage was gone. He let his head fall back against the wall. He'd done it, he'd overcome his own temper. He hadn't gone completely ballistic, despite every bone in his body wanting to. It wasn't an impossible thing after all.

Taking a deep breath and dislodging himself from the wall, Bill walked out onto the large dusty plot surrounding the chapel. He stood out there for sometime; in the brown dirt, with his hands in his trouser pockets, the wind whipping his hair across his face, and his boots planted firmly on the ground. The afternoon sun was hot against his black coat and slacks, but it was strangely comforting in its intensity. It was then that he did some serious thinking.

He realized that if he didn't calm down…..didn't learn to better control himself, be smarter…..that soon it could very well be his funeral in this same chapel. He didn't want it to be like that. It would be so goddamn pathetic. He would have any real family there, only Estiban, a group of dirty criminals, maybe a few weeping whores, and if she wasn't out fucking somebody, perhaps his mother. He was better than that and he knew it. He'd never known his father, but he knew that somehow he would be a better man than his father had been….in some way or another. And getting killed in a bar fight or shot in the back of a parking lot at the age of seventeen would most likely not make him any better that his father.

Julio had not deserved what had happened to him, but nonetheless, he was dead at nineteen, leaving behind a pregnant fiancée, a devastated family, and what might have been a better future. He was like so many, gone too early…..he was a statistic. He would be the kind of case people would read about in the paper and mumble something about 'no good dirty Mexicans' before they moved onto the funny pages. It was unfair, but that was just the way it was. Bill was not angry about what had happened, he was simply blatantly aware that such cruelties existed.

He knew that it was often that things undeserved were brought upon you; he'd known that long ago. He also knew that whatever was to happen to him throughout his life, including whatever brought about the end of it, would be well deserved. He could accept what he brought upon himself but he had no desire to encourage a fate that he felt was not yet deserved. In time, he would reap the rightful consequences of his actions……but not yet.

Squinting into the afternoon sun for a few moments longer, he then turned his back on the chapel and began his walk back home.

* * *

After Julio's funeral, Bill spent a few weeks doing very little of anything. He drank far too much a few times, went camping out in the desert by himself completely stoned, and pretty much stayed away from doing anything too violent. That wasn't to say he didn't desperately want to. But for some reason he felt the need, in Julio's honor, to take some time out from the Acuna Boys. Estiban made no objections to this, and in fact he was quite kind about the whole event to Bill; offering his condolences and a brand new bottle of Jack Daniels to his adopted son.

But, it was on Bill's eighteenth birthday that Estiban gave him perhaps the oddest gift he'd ever received thus far, or would possibly ever receive.

"Come into the front room Bill," Estiban called from down the hallway towards the open crack of Bill's bedroom door.

Frowning, Bill crawled out of bed, pulling on a clean t-shirt and jeans. He padded barefoot down the hallway, combing his hair with his fingers. He felt too groggy and just the slightest bit too hung over to give much thought as to what Estiban was up to. He barely even gave much thought to the day being his birthday. It didn't really matter that much to him anymore.

When he entered the living room area, there was Estiban, standing in front of three women. Bill recognized one of them as Valerie, a raven haired woman who'd been whoring for Estiban for a few years now. The other two were younger and completely new to him.

Estiban turned, and smiled, motioning Bill over. "Ah Bill, here they are…..these are very beautiful girls, all of them. I picked them myself. They will work hard for you. I will of course, receive a percentage of their earnings, along with some of your take. You know Valerie," he nodded to the dark haired woman, "…. and these two are new, Julie and Mariana."

But Bill wasn't looking at the girls; he was staring at Estiban; the man's rapid succession of words still registering through the waking fog of his mind. But it quickly dawned on him just what Estiban was getting at. He was giving him control of these women.

Bill turned to look at the women……his women? They remained obediently standing there in a row, their eyes downcast. He was too shocked to take much specific notice of them at the moment, let alone say anything to them.

Laughing, Estiban threw his arm around Bill's shoulders, as he was apt to do in his moments of admiration for 'his son'.

Bill blinked, unsure of what to say, "I………."

Estiban's smile widened, as he plucked his cigarette out of his mouth, and motioned to the women with the smoldering end of it, "You see Bill….you are a pimp now."


	5. Chap 1 Part 4: Mariana

Author's Notes - For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

Again, a big, big 'thank you' to everyone who has left reviews so far. I really do appreciate it!

I would like to note that this chapter is probably one of the more romance oriented/sex filled in this whole fic. This does not reflect how the majority of this story will be oriented though. Also, I don't think the whole "romance" thing is one of my stronger suits, so I apologize for that ahead of time. And also as an advisory warning; although I do attempt to try to keep things within the borders of "good taste"

**Chapter 1**

**The Acuna Boys**

**Part 4**

**Mariana**

_Was it me that shot him down in the cantina?_

_Was it my hand that held the gun?_

_Come, let us fly, my Magdalena_

_The dogs are barking and what's done is done._

_No llores, mi guerida_

_Dios nos vigila_

_Soon the horse will take us to Durango._

_Agarrame, mi vida_

_Soon the desert will be gone_

_Soon you will be dancing the fandango._

"_At the corrida we'll sit in the shade_

_And watch the young torero stand alone._

_We'll drink tequila where our grandfathers stayed_

_When they rode with Villa into Torroen._

_Then the padre will recite the prayers of old_

_In the little church this side of town._

_I will wear new boots and an earring of gold_

_You'll shine like diamonds in your wedding gown._

_The way is long but the end is near_

_Already the fiesta had begun._

_The face of God will appear_

_With his serpent eyes of obsidian._

_Bob Dylan – Romance in Durango_

Ciudad Acuna, Mexico. 1963

It is said that a person falls in love an average of three times during their lifetime.

Of course, statistics are often misconstrued….not to mention, how can love be so easily quantified or categorized? What is love anyways? Is it simply a chemically driven emotional response built up over the nearness of an individual, or is it something more…..unexplainable? Likewise, can a man….even a young man, who'd in time become a killer, a real sociopath, some might say a heartless bastard, have ever loved? Could he possibly look back and lay claim to that love as something real? Or was it nothing more than naive stupidity? Youthful lust? Misplaced idealism? What effect, if any, would it have on his capacity to love nearly four decades later? That is to say, that if "love" was even love at all to a person who took away life so easily with a vague sneer and the mere pinch of trigger.

There's absolutely no way to answer all of those questions clearly. But, at the very least…..there's always a story to be told. Every action has its consequence, and every hardened individual has their sweeter moments in time.

* * *

The moment Bill set eyes on Mariana; he knew he was in trouble. Big trouble.

At first, he'd been too shocked in finding out he was now a pimp to notice much about the young women standing in front of him. He was far too busy gaping at Estiban and coming to grips with his new "elevated" status to really look at Mariana or the others.

But after those few moments of shock passed, he composed himself and attempted to appear both simultaneously approachable and intimidating to the women who were now under his jurisdiction. He had absolutely no idea how to present himself to them. Hell, he had really little idea at all what it was like to be a pimp, let alone how to act like one. But, he'd been thrown into this position, and he did his best to recover from the shock of it all. After all, he'd always been good at quickly adapting to new situations.

And he probably would have pulled it off convincingly enough too, if he hadn't at that moment looked directly at the young woman known as Mariana.

Love at first sight is often thought of as an old cliché, and it would be a lie to say that Bill loved Mariana at first sight. But, he most definitely was infatuated with her at first sight. Not that this sort of event didn't happen all over the world on an everyday basis; but it was this sort of event that could impact a single individual greatly enough to make them forget the rest of the world existed at all.

Bill stood there staring at her; far longer than he done with a girl in years. She was beautiful….but she was not, say like Rhonda, a drop dead gorgeous bombshell type. Yet she was still beautiful; with high cheekbones, fair skin, shapely lips, straight long brown/copper hair, arching brows, and large dark brown eyes that were far darker than his own. He could guess she was around his age, maybe a year younger. She was tall for a woman and possessed a slim but still shapely figure under the loose dress she was wearing. In short, she was perfect in Bill's eyes. He could feel a physical effect just looking at her; and it wasn't all just sexual.

She kept her head bowed, but she offered him a small pleasant smile. God, and it was a beautiful smile.

"Bill………………….Bill?"

Estiban's voice finally registered in Bill's mind. He turned with a start, "Uh…yes…of course….."

Bill's father figure gave him a long look, but continued on, "Mariana is new here. She just arrived in Acuna a few days ago. Her mother, who is a…former acquaintance of mine, is from Mexico City."

Bill could see that in Mariana. She was new and fresh faced. He had seen what happened with these girls. They'd arrive here, looking like her…some of them even as beautiful as her. Then, within weeks, they'd seem to have aged ten years. Their faces became just as ragged and jaded as their bodies and souls. Bill felt a sudden pity for this beautiful girl….amongst other things; knowing what would happen to her. He didn't want to see it happen to her; yet he here he was….being given the very key to that corruption.

Forcing those thoughts away, Bill turned his full attention back to Mariana and extended his hand, "Very nice to meet you….."

Estiban pushed Bill's hand away before she had a chance to take it; his face suddenly hard, "You never shake your whore's hands Bill. And you speak over them, not to them."

Bill nodded slowly; taking his hand back. Well, he supposed that was lesson number one of many more to come on the rules of pimping.

Estiban then moved on down the line, "This is Julie….likewise she is new. I believe she is from…..Idaho. She speaks English, although I cannot understand the ignorant style of it that she speaks in. Perhaps you can decipher it Bill."

With some serious effort, Bill pulled his gaze away from Mariana and onto Julie. This time he made no attempt to shake hands or make greetings; and just nodded stoically at the young woman.

The first thing Bill noticed about Julie was that she appeared far too sweet to be a whore. She looked like some farmer's daughter gone astray and probably not a day over sixteen. And as Bill would find out later, she in fact was….in both cases. It turns out she'd hitchhiked from her hometown with cross country vagrants and wonderers, and somehow ended up in Acuna Mexico…..out of money and desperate to earn whatever she could, however she could. Her appearance was somewhat average. She was short, and a little on the pudgy side. Her dirty blonde hair was long and thick with a pleasant wavy texture to it. She had a wide oval shaped face, bad skin and bad teeth, but her most striking feature were her large sleepy ocean blue eyes. Bill could see right away why Estiban had decided to "employ" her. Her sweet looks and younger-than-legal appearance would cater to a certain clientele of customers who liked that sort of thing. But, as far as Bill thought, this girl belonged at a sock hop…..not a whorehouse.

Like Mariana, she offered him a small smile and submissive silence. Her attire was drabby and faded, and she clutched a small ribbon handled purse in her hands.

"And last, but not least...lovely Valerie." Estiban continued on down the line.

Because Valerie had been whoring for Estiban for a number of years, she innately held a higher status than the other two girls. And Estiban treated her as such; flashing her a toothy smile and even resting a hand on her shoulder.

Bill nodded again; familiar with Valerie. He remembered seeing her around throughout his teenage years. She was also one of the whores known to be close to his mother. He had no doubt in his mind that her being put under his care was any sort of accident.

Valerie was in her mid-twenties, but like most experienced whores she looked somewhat older. She had a head of long curly black hair and beady hazel eyes. She was Hispanic, but Bill guessed she had some sort of other heritage in her bloodline as well. He had thought she was pretty about five years ago….before the years of whoring had turned her into what she was. It was also widely known that Valerie had a son named Samuel who was about nine years old and of….mixed race. And by "mixed race" one meant that Samuel's father had been a black man. Times were less accepting back then as they were now.

Valerie regarded Bill coolly, and without an ounce of respect or real acknowledgement. As it would turn out, she'd pretty much always regard him this way.

The introductions having been made, Bill loitered around the living room; attempting to not to get into some sort of interaction with the women that was apparently "against the rules". He kept glancing at Mariana; finding her more alluring by the second. Valerie didn't seem all that interested in being around him more than necessary and retired to her room without a word.

It was decided that Julie and Mariana would share a room; since they were both Bill's and new arrivals. Neither made any objections; as if it would have mattered anyways, and Estiban left Bill to get them settled in.

Likewise, neither of them owned much, but Bill diligently insisted on carrying their small amount of bags from the other rooms they'd been temporarily staying in into the one bare room they were now to share.

The room was a dump. It had a blue painted door that was badly peeling and mismatched painted walls inside. The one window was covered in a thick coating of dust and small cracks. The flooring was a series of sunken in boards and the full fifteen square foot room was lit by one single bare hanging bulb in the middle of the crumbling ceiling. There were two single beds; each pushed into opposite corners. They were both stripped bare of any bedding. That was it for furnishings

It was not intended to be charming, but Bill couldn't help but feel disgusted with it. He was so particular about his own room; he couldn't stand being in a room such as this. No wonder he'd never been in this room before. It reminded him too much of that prison cell in Austin.

He glanced at Mariana and Julie as the three of them stood in this middle of less-than-charming décor. Both young women were hiding their disappointment rather well. After all, they were whores, not matrons. Perhaps they were both already accepting that reality.

"We'll fix it up," he spoke up; setting down their bags.

Mariana nodded and wondered over to the bed near the window. But Julie was looking at him a little quizzically. He glared back at her, "I said we'll fix it up….."

"I don't understand what yer sayin'," she drawled in heavily white trash accented English. "I'm…sorry…."

"Ah, that's right….," he replied in English. "Well, you'd better learn to speak some Spanish…..although; you won't need much for what you're doing to be doing. You aren't here to use your mouth to speak."

Julie looked momentarily elated to finally hear somebody speak perfect English to her. But the sharp string of Bill's words caused her to simply bow her head at the last moment.

He pursed his lips; looking as if he was going to say something else, but then he just headed for the door. His eyes flicked to Mariana once more. She was sitting on her newly claimed bed; rummaging through her bag. He wanted to stay there; to talk to her, but he knew that was stupid. He already wasn't sure if he was doing and saying the right things; he'd better not push it.

"Ah," he faltered; catching her eye, "….just…keep…..unpacking." He glanced at Julie, "Get settled in…," he added in English. With that, he turned and left the two young women to do what they needed to do.

* * *

Of course, Bill was smart enough to see what Estiban was really up to. His father figure had tactfully "given" him this new position in an effort to curb his violent path with the Acuna Boys. Estiban now saw the danger in having Bill draw too much attention to his organization with the young man's less-than-subtle actions. Bill's bar fight and consequential stint in prison was evidence enough for that concern. Besides, Estiban wasn't the young man he used to be. Obviously, he saw Bill as his heir to his kingdom of prostitution. By putting Bill in his current position, Estiban could further groom the young man to take his place upon his eventual retirement, as well as have in place a man he felt he could mold and control to his own whims in his declining age.

But Bill had no desire to be a pimp. He liked running with the Acuna Boys. He liked extorting money out of people. He liked to intimidate. He didn't want to oversee a bunch of whores. He didn't want to deal in sex. He wanted to deal in violence. He wanted to run with the boys….not control women. He loved having sex of course, but that's about as far as he wanted to go with it. Selling it just didn't appeal to him. And then when it came to Estiban's plan to mold Bill to his own whims; well the man had yet to find out just hard it was going to be to do so. Bill was simply not the type who was going to willingly allow himself to be controlled for a long period of time. He was destined to be the controller, not the controlled.

Yet, he knew he could not deny Estiban's gift. It would be a deep insult to his father figure. Bill could see the pride swelling in Estiban's eyes as they had stood there looking at the girls. And he also knew that Estiban would not want him to expose his ulterior motives for what they were; completely self concerned. Besides, the more Bill thought about it, how hard could it be to a pimp? He'd finally get to make some real money. He'd find ways to still do what he did with the Acuna Boys. He'd win Estiban's favor, perhaps making up for his recent disappointments. He'd try it out, maybe in the end, it would work out. Most of all, he could be near Mariana.

But when it came down to the fine linguistics of pimping; Bill was admittedly a little hazy. He spent the first day of his new position in awkward and ill-fitting confusion. He hated not being confident in what he was doing and he just ended up in a bad mood. The next afternoon, he bit down on his massive self pride and approached Estiban with a series of questions.

Of course, the senior pimp had been expecting that to happen. He had set it up so Bill would have to approach him for help. It was a way to assert his power in a subtle and self glorifying way. Estiban did not lack in tactful cunning and Bill ended up certainly soaking up on that trait.

With a knowing smile Estiban waved Bill to join him in the living room for their little talk. Bill would never forget that talk. And while he would be apt to disregard some of what Estiban was about to tell him; it would later became a memory he would tap into for some of his own ways of operating.

He remembered it well; it was a muggy afternoon, and they sat down across from each other in that slightly too dark, slightly out of date living room. Bill seated himself in his favorite old recliner. He used to love to curl up in this chair and read comics by the dim lamplight. Now, his legs were far too long, and he didn't read his comics all that much anymore; such is life.

Estiban seated himself on the couch; leaning back and crossing his legs in that sophisticatedly suave way of his. He lip up a cigarette.

It was then that Bill noticed the first touches of grey in the older man's mustache, nothing much…a smattering really, but it was there and it reminded him of the passage of time. Estiban was no longer the smooth faced youthful man of his childhood, just as Bill was no longer the child obediently at Estiban's elbow; again, such is life. After a moment, Bill lit up a cigarette of his own; being their ritual.

Then, leaning forward, Estiban began with a mantra of sorts: "A pimp is second to God." He spoke in his trademark accented English, "God created life, he controls life. A pimp controls sex and sex is the most powerful factor in life."

Bill was apt to disagree. In his mind, the man who was the most powerful was the man who controlled death…..he was truly second to God. Sex meant nothing in the wake of death. But he did not voice his opinion, knowing Estiban had strong beliefs in the sanctities of pimping, and instead just nodded.

Biting down on his cigarette, Estiban pointed at the younger man, "Remember Bill, you must be both the whore's protector and their punisher. They must love you, yet fear you. The mere thought of disobeying you……or leaving you, should cause them to panic. Without you, they would be lost." He leaned back, and then added sharply, "You are not to be their friend. You do not spoil them when they do not deserve it. You must not be afraid to be cruel was necessary. And in those moments, where the whore truly deserves punishment…..you must execute it without a touch of remorse or hesitation. If she sees you hesitate…even for a second, you have lost your advantage…she knows that you are weak. And she will exploit it…I assure you." He inhaled, eyes partially shutting in thought. "Now, when the whore is very good…….you are good to her. You treat her better….show her that by being good, she has won your favor. We have talked about his before, yes?"

Bill nodded; a vague memory sparking…..although he remembered that being more in the context of women in general. But then again, to a man like Estiban….a whore and a woman were one in the same.

"Mrm, yes," the older pimp mumbled; eyes back on his protégé, "I have been a pimp……for nearly twenty five years Bill, and I will tell you the one thing you should never do…first and foremost. This is the most important thing." He paused for effect, "Never…..." he pointed the burning end of his cigarette at Bill, "…..ever…….ever…..sleep with your own whores."

Bill sat silently, unsure if he should respond to that.

"Never," Estiban repeated; obviously vehement about this rule, "….it is the biggest mistake a pimp can make. It will ruin the entire operation. You will regret it. It is simply not worth it." His dark eyes flashed with intensity, "You understand?"

"Yes," Bill replied flatly.

Gazing at Bill a few seconds longer, Estiban moved on. He pulled a small ledger out of his jacket breast pocket. "Now," he began, "….let us discuss more business type of matters…"

And so the two of them spent the better part of the next hour going over the entire business side of pimping. Bill learned all about in calls and out calls, how to handle Johns, the difference in fees, what a whore could and could not do with a John, how much to pay a whore, and how to deal with sick prostitutes. Apparently Estiban had a deal with a doctor in town, and every month all of the whores were given a check up, for a reasonable price.

In short, Bill was given the Cliff Notes version on pimping. He couldn't say he had desperately wanted to really learn any of that, but he took it all in as eagerly as he possibly could muster.

Estiban also leant him use of his old Morris Minor. It was a little too old time classic for Bill's taste. He liked fast cars, the Minor barely ran; hardly a roadster. But he wasn't going to turn it down either. It was a car after all.

And thus began Bill's career as a pimp. Which as fate would have it, would not last all that long.

* * *

Over the course of that year, Bill was soon happy to realize that he was indeed not going to be destined to be a short man. He'd grown nearly three inches in height over the last couple of months; a sudden but well needed growth spurt. It gave him a good excuse to get rid of all of the worn out pants of his teenage years and get some things that were more up to date with his more "mature" aesthetic. Likewise, he'd finally started to put on some visible bulk; his shoulders began widening and his chest and arms were actually starting to show some muscle. And when he looked in the mirror, it was less the round face of a boy and more the lean face of a man that he was seeing. He'd even had to start to actually shave; which he quickly realized was not quite as glorified as he'd thought all of those peach fuzzed faced years of before. His hair was longer than ever, falling past his shoulders. Estiban was horrified, but Bill was far too attached to the look now to be pressured out of it.

During these gradual physical changes, he noticed that those around him begin to treat him slightly differently. Many men seemed a little more intimidated with him; now that he was taller than the average Hispanic man. Women now seemed to look at him with some sort of newfound interest.

And women luckily included Mariana.

He first noticed her looking at him one evening when he was reading in the living room area. Now that he had to keep track of what was going on in the house, he often could not hide in his bedroom like he used to. Reading in the living room wasn't quite as private or comfortable; but it sufficed.

He'd looked up in annoyance as the television in the other room was suddenly turned up to an obnoxiously high level. But his glare quickly faded as he found himself staring right back at Mariana. She was standing in the adjoining dining area, leaning partially against the wall; wearing a long loose red summer style dress. One elegant arm was draped over the back of a nearby chair. Her other hand was clasped around her exposed shoulder. Her long hair framed her softly chiseled face perfectly.

She was looking right at him; there was no questioning that. Her full mouth was upturned into a small smile; her dark eyes intense. She looked neither dreamy nor stupidly intoxicated by his presence. But she did look………..intrigued.

How long had she been looking at him? And why hadn't he noticed? Had he been so absorbed that he could miss a look such as that?

He lowered the book in his hands a little; returning the smile; although he doubted his smile was half as alluring as hers. He wanted to say something, but it seemed like one of those moments where talking would just cheapen it. And even though the volume of the television in the other room remained far too loud, he suddenly couldn't hear a damn thing.

She continued to look at him for a moment longer, and then with a slight widening of her smile, she pivoted away and melted into the dim lighting of the dining room.

He sat there staring at the space where she had been. He wasn't exactly sure how to take what had just happened. Perhaps he'd just imagined it; seeing what he'd wanted to see. But somehow he knew that wasn't the case…..and it only made him more frustrated with this whole arrangement.

* * *

Bill had spent the first few days of his new "career" decidedly avoiding Julie and Valerie because he didn't exactly know what to tell them, and avoiding Mariana because every time he saw her…….well, he had a sudden rush of unspeakable thoughts. But after the talk with Estiban, he became a little more confident in his new role and got the girls down to work, so to speak. He gradually began to adapt to his new role; and not without some form of satisfaction.

Bill quickly found out that pimping wasn't all that hard. Of course, he was only dealing with three whores. But, beyond the minor tasks of arrangement, basic bookkeeping and general overseeing, there wasn't much to it. The girls fucked, and he made sure everything went as planned. He also made sure their fees were paid in full and divvied out the percentages to them. There was little to no trouble with them; no big dramas or health issues. The Johns didn't give him any shit, and seemed happy to pay up. Bill suspected his previous actions with the Acuna Boys might have factored into that though. Acuna wasn't that big of a town; word spread quickly.

The first few days he remained occupied with helping Julie and Mariana fix up their room. Estiban insisted he was being far too generous with them. But when Bill suggested that men would be far more willing to stick around and have even more sex in a nicer room; Estiban grudgingly agreed to the idea. They repainted everything, found some acceptable bedding, cleaned the window, and found a decent light fixture. Bill even managed to round up some small pieces of furniture to complete the set up. He enjoyed it mostly because he was in close proximity of Mariana, but he had to admit he liked being around both girls….and the three of them had some carefully hidden joking moments; throwing paint at one another and other such juvenile silliness. Sadly that project only lasted a couple days before coming to an acceptable completion and it was time to get down to business.

Bill now spent many hours sitting around reading, and finally understood why Estiban liked reading books so much. He read the Japanese self defense book three times and went back to the second hand store where he'd gotten it to see if they had anything else like it. They didn't, beyond a small leaflet from the 1940's on how to disarm an attacker with a bull whip; seemingly not very useful.

He did spend some time drinking and playing pool with Carlos when he could get away from the house for a few hours. But he found that he was pretty much tied to the house during all its hours of operation. Sometimes he'd drive around downtown with the girls walking the streets, rounding up out calls, but he preferred to have them take calls in the house. He found he was already far too protective of them to happily send them to a stranger's place.

He went about all of this as detached as possible. The concept of prostitution was far from a new one to him; and he had grown numb to any moral implications it entailed years ago. But when it came to Mariana, he was having difficulty dealing with his growing infatuation with her and the very real task of having to send her out to have sex with paying strangers. It was not your typical situation to say the least, and he was finding it harder and harder to deal with on a daily basis.

They talked a number of times. Usually it was very brief exchanges and within the presence of the other girls. But Bill quickly made his mind up that it had not been his imagination before; when Mariana had looked at him like she had. She continued to look at him like that, and he found himself returning the look willingly. He didn't like the fact that he wanted her and he couldn't have her. He was used to always getting the girl that he wanted; it was simply part of his egocentrically driven make up.

Finally, about three weeks into the whole set up, he got a chance to talk to her alone.

It was about mid afternoon on a weekday; not exactly the busiest time in a whorehouse. Bill was in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator. He was going through a phase where he was basically hungry all the time. There was never enough food in the house to satisfy him and he found himself searching through the refrigerator multiple times a day and coming to the same conclusion.

Mariana strolled into the kitchen. She took a glass from the top cupboard and began filling it with tap water.

He peered at her from over the rim of the fridge, admiring her as she stood in front of the sink. "How are things going Mariana?" He spoke up after a moment; shutting the refrigerator and leaning against its cool surface.

"Good," she turned, offering him a quick smile as she took a long sip from her glass. "Not very busy….."

"Hrm," He responded flatly, not really wanting to talk about 'business' with her at all. He hated that she was a whore. He wanted to tell her how he felt. But how could he tell her that, being her pimp?

"You speak English well?" She asked him suddenly; long fingers curling around the glass of water.

"Yes….I was born in the States. My mother, she taught me when I was young. Estiban taught me more as I grew up….and Spanish of course."

She fiddled with the glass, "Will you……..teach me some English? I know a little…but I am not very good. I would like to learn more."

Bill tried to hide his elation at this proposition, "I'd love to……," he smiled. After a long moment of smiling at her like a damn idiot, he caught himself and crossed arms over his chest. "Ok….say something in English to me."

"Mrm…..." she straightened up, eyes lifting to the ceiling in concentration, "You….," she bit her lip….."…..you…..are like….reminding of….the….star…..James Dean?" Mariana's English was indeed not very good; broken and heavily accented, but she at least knew some and was willing to try.

Bill laughed out loud at the randomness of that analogy, "I'm a rebel without a cause then?"

"I…..do not know….," she faltered; blushing a little.

Perhaps that reference was a little too obscure for her basic English. He tried a different route. His laugher died down into a small smile. "What else do you like about me?" He said in much slower English.

"I like………your voice…."

He laughed again, "My voice?" He'd never really thought twice about the sound of his own voice, except that he was glad it had now finally lowered to a respectable level.

Mariana nodded; her own smile bright, "The other………girls they think so…like me……..I hear them…a few days ago…..talk…..about it."

He found it odd that women found something like a voice as a thing worth talking about….as if it was were a feature that was truly alluring. This was a strange new concept to him, but one he would file away and certainly not forget. He rose a brow; stepping backwards to sit on the edge of the counter. "What else do they say?"

She played along; putting down her glass and leaning her elbows on the counter next to him," Some say…….think you…..are….handsome…..in….a…strange way."

"Strange way?" Bill laughed yet again; not exactly sure if that as a compliment or not. "And….what do you think Mariana?" He spoke softly.

"Think?"

"What….do you think of me?"

"I…..think you……are….handsome too……," she averted her eyes.

His lip curled, "In a strange sort of way?"

"No……in…..a good…..sort of way."

"And?"

She turned away, smiling shyly. "And……that is all…."

Funny that she was being so shy with him now, when she'd been openly staring at him since she'd met him. His smile turned sly as he returned to speaking in Spanish," No, I don't think that is all." He leaned further down so that their heads were nearly touching. His voice dropped to whisper, "I think you should go out with me tonight." He was still as self assured as he had been with Rosilinda; except this time he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to get slapped. "We can go to the movies….and then we can go out to the desert. Have you ever been out to the desert at night?"

She shook her head.

"It's beautiful," he continued on in that whisper, "You'll love it…"

Mariana shook her head; brushing long strands of hair out of her face, "No, I can't do that Bill." She took a little step back, "It's…not right."

"Sure it is." He leaned forward, "Estiban doesn't have to find out. I'll tell him you are on out call with a John…but you'll be out with me instead."

She snickered "Does that mean I have to do with you what I would do with a John?"

"No, of course not…….," he paused; his own smirk appearing, "….not unless you want to….."

"Ok….," she nodded after a long moment of consideration.

Bill's smart ass smirk widened, "Ok….you want to go out with me tonight…..or ok you want to do with me what you'd do with a John?"

She shoved him, rolling her eyes, "Stop…you know what I mean…."

He laughed, pressing his shoulder back up against hers. "We'll sneak out after dinner….," he murmured close to her ear, "Nobody will-"

The sound of footsteps caused him to stop. They both turned as Valerie entered the kitchen. She sent a long dark look in their direction as she opened the corner cupboard. There was a few seconds of thick silence where nobody spoke or moved.

Then, sliding off the counter, Bill made a smooth exit. But not before he did, he flashed a quick smile at Mariana.

Getting out after dinner was as easy as Bill had known it would be. He told Estiban he was going to go see Carlos and that he was taking Mariana to an out call along the way. Mariana had changed into a nice sandy colored brown summer dress, which Bill would soon learn was very characteristic of her style. They drove to the local movie theatre; which was on the other side of town. Mariana wanted to see "Marry Poppins", Bill flat out refused that just after seeing the poster alone. He wanted to see "A Fistful of Dollars", but Mariana didn't seem too into that. So, finally they came to the compromise to see the new James Bond film, "Goldfinger."

While watching the movie, Mariana didn't seem to object to letting Bill put his arm around her shoulders. He might have tried more if it wasn't for the fact that they both got too much into the film to want to miss any of it.

Afterwards, they spent the short drive to the desert, in hysterics.

"My name's…..Pussy…. Galore……," Mariana cooed in a relatively decent impression of the infamous blonde Bond girl.

"Ahhhh…Pussy…..." Bill replied in his best Connery impersonation; turning to her with a dramatically raised eyebrow, "…..I must be dreaming…"

Knowing that area of desert fairly well, Bill found a good spot to park the car. Opening the door for Mariana; he took her hand and excitedly led her across the sand. "There's a great spot just up here….where the sand has been piling up for probably a good five thousand years……"

Mariana stared wide eyed at the massive expanse of dunes and the star dotted sky overhead as they walked on. "It is beautiful…….," she murmured. It was a perfect night. The air was slowly growing cooler and there was a subtle refreshing breeze skirting over the normally scorching sand.

Suddenly Bill let go of her hand; falling into a crouch. "Quiet," he hissed; eyes focused on something a few feet in front of him.

She gaped at him; completely taken off guard.

He slowly crawled onto his hands and knees…and then flat out on his belly…then he began inching forward gradually.

Mariana stifled a massive giggle; her shoulders shaking under the effort as she watched him do this.

With a lighting quick movement, he reached out and snatched the object of his attentions right out of the sand. "Gotcha, you little fucker!" The thing cupped in one hand; he picked himself up and held it out to her.

She stared down into his palm; squinting through the dim evening light.

"It's a horned lizard," he said; picking it up between his thumb and forefinger. It was indeed small grey lizard, covered in a variety of small bony bumps. The most prominent were around its neck. "See…the bumps…I guess they look like horns…..this one's a baby though. Here….." He placed it in her open palm.

Mariana held the tiny thing in her hand; a small smile on her face. "He's cute…"

"The babies are cute," he shrugged, "But the big ones are as ugly as sin. They're all over the place….it's just hard to see them. They camouflage well…"

"Oh shit!" She cursed as the lizard suddenly squirmed out of her hands and made a frantic leap back into the sand, where it scuttled away too quick to really see where it where it had went.

He laughed, "Do you want me to find you a tarantella now?"

She shook her head adamantly, "No thanks…I think I'll stick with the lizards."

By the time it was completely dark, they finally managed to make it to the top of the big dune; where they were happy to sit down and enjoy the view. There was of course no denying the sexual tension between them. And it was hard to concentrate on much else. Bill spent much of the time talking about things he wasn't really even thinking about; just to fill in space. He tried to teach her some more English. Mariana nodded and smiled, and not without some real interest in what he was saying. But she seemed more interested in him beyond the wordly knowledge that Estiban had taught him.

Noticing that she was shaking a little as the night grew chillier; he removed his jacket and carefully placed it around her shoulders. He moved behind her, freeing her long hair from underneath his jacket and running his hands gently over those straight locks; brushing it out against her back.

He knew it was all about being smooth; making sure that every movement seemed intentional; even if it wasn't. It was also important that a woman was comfortable. He was much more in tune with these things now; having moved far beyond those days of adolescent fumbling.

"Is that better?" He said softly, leaning towards her left ear.

"Yes, much better……thank you," she replied in a whisper, adjusting the jacket slightly against her shoulders. But she was still shaking.

He went back to smoothing out her hair, fingers lingering just a little longer against her temples and the base of her neck each time he repeated the motion. If there was ever a book entitled "The Art of Seduction", Bill had read up to about Chapter 3 at this point in his life; still somewhat of a novice but certainly possessing a good enough catalogue of reference material. He had thus far been respectful yet amusing; it was time to turn on a little of the charm.

His hands paused on her shoulders; giving them a little massage, "You're still shaking. Are you still cold?"

Mariana shook her head, "No……well….a little…….I'm sorry…..I-"

"Shh…..." he hushed her quickly; moving up closer behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "…there's nothing to be sorry about." He rested his chin lightly on the crook of her shoulder; eyes hooded.

She leaned into the embrace willingly. And she reached up to place a hand over one of his own.

"You know Mariana……," he began slowly, "….I care a great deal for you already. I would give you anything you want. You name it; I'll give it to you." His lips brushed just barely against her neck as he spoke.

She laughed a little. It seemed somewhat of a preposterous comment, but Bill was known to make those.

He glanced up at the profile of her face, "No, I'm being serious….what do you want?"

"I…….,"

But she never answered his question; she simply turned suddenly around and kissed him. He'd been expecting that of course, but not just yet. Was that what she had wanted then? Or was that simply the easy out to the question he'd proposed? No matter, Bill didn't care anymore. He was instantly too occupied with openly accepting her kiss to care about anything else. He realized that this was second time that a woman had suddenly kissed him like that; strange.

She was a great kisser, but that didn't come as too much of a surprise. And she was likewise a fast mover; within less than a minute of this impromptu make out session, her hands had wandered from his hair to unbutton his shirt. So naturally, he responded by sliding his hands from her smooth thighs to underneath the loose hem of her dress.

"We can't…….," she whispered a moment later; contradicting herself by pulling him down on top of her.

"We can….," he breathed,"…but I'd rather not on the sand…..."

She laughed against his mouth; yanking his tucked in shirt loose from his slacks. Eventually they did make it to the car. Bill had never had sex in a car before; it was about damn time he try it out.

Well, there went the "date"; now on the lustful downward spiral of youthful sex. They'd tried to make it normal, they really had. But who were they kidding of course? Mariana was a whore, albeit a new one. And Bill was the kind of young man who was certainly more on the promiscuous side than most young men his age in the early 1960's.

And yes, at first it was pretty much about sex. After all, that was always how Bill had related to women, not just in his basic depth of interaction with them, but also in the realm of what he'd grown up around. He wasn't exactly objectifying them….it was simply all he'd known so far. In his lifetime, there would be those who say he was the biggest misogynist since Pablo Picasso, and others who would say he was a real "woman's man"; one who truly empowered women in the deadliest of ways possible.

But at eighteen, he was too young to be called either. All he knew was that he had a sudden and deep infatuation with a woman who was supposed to be whoring for him. And even that realm of responsibility and position was easily forgotten in moments of passion.

Afterwards, they drove back to Estiban's and snuck into his bedroom…..sloppily dressed, only to rid themselves of their clothing once again. Nowadays Bill was pretty open about bringing girls in his room, but it was a little different when the girl was supposed to be whoring for you…not sleeping with you. So, they made sure to keep the whole thing as…..quiet as possible.

* * *

Like many of those perched on the edge of adulthood, Bill's bedroom had gradually moved into a more "mature" arena of décor. He had long since taken down the silly old western posters and the shelves of army men and wooden horses. A few of the pin ups remained, along with a few choice comic books, but the rest were packed away. On a whim, Bill had removed the glass panes from all of his windows; .Julio had taught him how to do that trick years ago. He left the screens of course. He replaced the glass with thin woven bamboo slatted mats he'd bought in Tijuana a few months back. He didn't know much about bamboo at that point in his life. But he liked how it looked, and the way the sunlight shone through it; it gave his room a very open air tawny look. They were meant to be slept on really, but they sufficed as windows just fine enough in arid Mexico. He got rid of his small single bed and replaced it with a low queen sized futon. He became obsessive about keeping his room clean and well balanced. These were the days long before the Western obsession with Feng Shui but perhaps in his own way Bill was practicing it already.

That next morning after his "date" with Mariana, when he woke up next to her in his room, Bill finally realized just what the big deal was about waking up next to somebody. He'd never really experienced that before…..and it was really nice.

He had propped himself up on his elbow, as he'd woken up before her, and spent sometime watching her sleep. He desperately wanted to touch her, but he didn't want to wake even more, so he simply continued to look upon her still features with open affection.

Finally, she stirred; eyes fluttering open. Upon seeing him she smiled.

'Hello…..." he murmured; kissing her softly.

"Hello…..." she replied, mimicking the trademark English word with decent accuracy. She wrapped her arms around his neck; pulling him in even closer. "Why is it that you are better in bed than any John I've been with?" Her lip twisted, "Not that I've been with allot of men……"

He laughed, running his fingertips over the soft expanse of her torso. He was momentarily distracted, but then his eyes turned back up to her face, "I suppose it's because I know what women want."

It was Mariana's turn to laugh as she shoved him away playfully. "And you're pretty full of yourself too."

He flashed her a brash smile, "Guilty as charged." But he grew more serious after a moment; watching her intensely as she moved to sit on the corner of the bed to brush out her long hair. "Tell me about yourself."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, "No…..I mean…well…..men never want to hear that sort of thing. You're just being nice."

"No, I'm not nice," he replied bluntly, "….but I am curious."

"Ok…." Setting aside her brush with a quick smile, she crawled back under the sheets. It was obvious nobody had ever really asked her about herself. She seemed excited to tell him. He found out that she had been born and had grown up in Mexico City. Her mother had been a prostitute; thus why Estiban had been 'acquainted' with her, but now she was…'retired'. She ran a small laundry mat in the poor barrio where she lived. Mariana also had a younger brother, who was basically a street thug. She described to Bill what it was like to live in a Mexico City slum, and why she had to get out.

When he asked her why she'd become a prostitute, she simply replied with "It's all I know how to do."

He frowned; a hand aimlessly toying with the ends of her hair, "Then why not change that? Why not try to become more than you know how?"

She shifted her head against his chest, where she had recently settled it, "I suppose….it is because nobody has ever told me or taught me otherwise…"

"Hrm"

She glanced up at him with a mischievous look in her eyes, "And why haven't you left Acuna? Why not become more than you know how?"

"Because I haven't had any real reason to leave yet…..and……," he shifted a dark look down on her, "….because I already know that I will become more than I am now."

* * *

Even though Bill's original plan was to try to keep running with the Acuna Boys when he could, he found he didn't have as much time to devote to them as he'd thought. And now with this pleasant turn with Mariana, he'd pretty much given up on that plan. But, he still did his best to see Carlos when possible.

So when they could, the two of them would go and play pool at a local bar they'd both come to love. Sometimes Juan, the idiot who'd partnered with them on their numerous extortion trips, would be there too. Bill was disappointed to find out Juan had not in fact accidentally killed himself yet. There was still time of course.

Carlos found Bill's forced change of "career" quite amusing.

"So, do you get to sleep with your whores?" The heavyset eye-patched man asked Bill one night as he was setting up a corner shot in their current game of pool.

"No," Bill replied with a smirk. It was the truth, but that didn't mean he was following it completely. He took a long drink from his beer bottle, "….it's not good for business."

Carlos pocketed his shot perfectly and stood up with a grin. "Could you cut me a deal maybe?"

Bill smirked, "Fucker." He set aside his beer and rounded the pool table. He wielded his pool cue and pointed it at his large friend. "For you, I'd have to charge you more. You need two women…..maybe three."

Carlos laughed good naturedly, "Damn straight." He was used to Bill's quipping sense of humor at this point and was apt to play along.

"Fucking shit!" Bill cursed; scratching his shot. He was terminally bad at pool and he could never quite figure out why. Carlos was always beating him, and he often wondered why he kept playing him.

Deep down, Bill missed Julio a great deal. Carlos was a good guy, but he could never replace the friendship Bill had shared with Julio. But thinking about everything that had happened with Julio was somewhat unsettling and Bill tended to tuck it away; never to be fully dealt with. Carlos was a safe bet kind of friend. He was not the type to get himself killed on you, and he was far more willing to sit back and take verbal abuse.

"You asshole," Bill snarled from the corner of the pool table as Carlos racked in a double shot and easily won the current game.

"Was that Paso's or Dollars we were betting in this time?" The other man asked causally; barely hiding a gloating smile.

"Dollars…..." Bill grated; digging his wallet from his back pocket. "You keep at this and I'm going to have to start whoring myself out."

Carlos bent over the pool table with a roar of laughter. A couple of guys from the neighboring table glanced over sharply. Smirking, Bill reached over and slapped Carlos on the back, "It wasn't that funny mi amigo." He stuffed a hundred dollar bill in the man's open mouth and headed for the door, "I'm done…"

Spitting the money out into his hand, Carlos followed Bill out; still chuckling, "Oh, it was that funny….." he said with a snicker.

They headed towards the Morris Minor in the parking lot.

"Have I told you how much I love your new car?"

"Shut the fuck up Carlos."

"At least you can't go over fifty in this one….," the other man mumbled as they got in. Carlos wasn't about to forget that Bill nearly killed him last year when they'd stolen that parked car.

Bill pretended not to hear his friend; instead typically lighting up a cigarette and driving stoically.

"So…about getting me a whore..?"

"No," Bill paused, "Unless you want to hand me back that hundred…..then I might be able to work something out for you."

"Nah," Carlos shrugged; leaning back in the seat, "I think I'll keep it. How about some weed in exchange?"

"Tempting but no."

"Booze?"

"No."

"My forever and undying love and respect?"

"Definitely not."

"Well…shit," Carlos gave up, "I guess I'll die a virgin then."

This time it was Bill's turn to roar with laughter.

* * *

A few weeks later Bill was sitting out in front of the house on one of the white plastic patio chairs, reading; a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was late afternoon. Mariana was gone, on an out call and he was trying to not think about how incredibly jealous the thought made him. It was almost unbearable to think about her fucking some other man now. It was all incredibly frustrating. This was not how a pimp was supposed to think and he knew it.

He looked up when he heard the crunching of sandals on the driveway gravel, hoping it was Mariana returning. But it was Julie. She was walking quickly with her head bowed; causing her long dirty blonde hair to fall conveniently over her face.

He squinted at her sharply, taking a long drag on his cigarette. Something wasn't right.

She tried to walk right past him, but he stood up and grabbed her by her forearm. He snagged her back towards him. "Hold on," he said darkly; now getting used to speaking to Julie in English.

"I've gotta get inside Bill…..another call…..." she mumbled, still hiding under her thick curtain of hair.

That was a lie. There was no other call for her. Lower lip set in a frown; he tilted his head to the side; reaching out and pushing the hair out of her face.

"No…don't!" She tried to fight him, but it was too late. He'd seen enough. Her face was a wreck. Her right eye was swollen nearly shut; an angry welt. A good majority of her right cheek and brow was covered in a flaming red raw bruise. The corner of her mouth was split wide open; caked with newly dried blood.

He stared down at her; hands gingerly holding her face up for closer inspection, "Who did this to you?"

"A John."

He bit down on a wave of frustration, "Yes…..I know….," he grated, "…which John, one of the regulars……who?"

She said nothing, her eyes still downcast so as not to have to look at him as he continued to inspect her wounds.

He tilted her chin up with his thumbs; glare intensifying, "Tell me Julie. Who the hell did this to you?"

"It was Jose…."

"There's about two hundred Jose's in Acuna……which one?"

"Jose……Rios……the…the guy that works at the gas station next to Case del Sol….short guy…shaved head. He…..he got a little too violent with me….."

He released her face, "Fucker!" He spun away and made a bolt for the driveway.

"No….no, don't worry about it," she reached out and snagged onto the arm of his shirt; vainly trying to stop him, "…..it's not a big deal….he was drunk, he said he was sorry afterwards."

Bill shrugged her off easily, "Wait here……," he turned; pointing at her before he did so, "….and don't take any calls."

"I said don't worry about it Bill!" She protested vainly, flailing her arms and taking a few clumsy steps after him.

But he wasn't listening; he headed straight for the Morris Minor. Going around to the trunk, he popped it open and removed a crowbar.

"Oh God….." She whispered; a hand gingerly touching her bruised face.

Stomping back around to the driver's side, he started the car and recklessly peeled out of the driveway.

It didn't take long for Bill to find the gas station that Jose worked at. He pulled up along the line of gas pumps; easily spotting a short man with a shaved head. He was leaning against the far gas pump with a couple of other guys, smoking; stupid fuckers.

Bill jumped out of the car, slamming the door loudly. He headed straight for Jose, the crowbar clenched in his hand; his face set in a murderously feral expression.

Everybody but Jose saw Bill coming, and they all backed away. Jose barely had time to turn and look, "Wh-"

Without a second's hesitation, Bill swung the crowbar in a wide arc and cracked the other man right across the chest with the blunt end. The sickening snap of a rib or two could be heard as Jose crumpled to the pavement yelling and clutching at his ribs. Bill stood over him; teeth bared; "You want to hit somebody….you hit a man, you fucking pussy!" He reared back and slammed the crowbar down right between Jose's legs. The man screamed, instantly balling up, his eyes rolling back into his head. "I could easily crack your fucking skull open right now!" Bill spat; leaning over him, "You should count having your balls smashed as getting pretty goddamn lucky!" Jose groaned; his head rolling from side to side in perpetual agony.

Not entirely appeased, Bill crouched down and pressed his knee right into Jose's now cracked ribs. The claw end of the crowbar hovered right over one of the man's watering eyes, "Don't get near my whores ever again…," Bill growled, "….you hear me you poco mierda? I will kill you if I even so much as see your face near Estiban's."

Through his mass of tears and pain, Jose managed a nod.

Bill slowly stood up, glaring down at the man. He then spun in a full circle; the crowbar held confidently in both hands. He glowered at the group of spectators. "Any of you other anos want to fuck with me?"

A few shook their heads, as they all slowly continued to back away.

Turning away in disgust, Bill marched back to the car, and tossed the crowbar in the backseat. He jumped back in the Minor. He then roared away from the station; still fuming, and wishing he had a much flashier car to perform that dramatic exit in.

When he got back to Estiban's, Julie was inside sitting on one of the small living room couches. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she was rocking back and forth. She looked up as he entered.

He cast her a sharp look, lip twisting with dark amusement, "Jose won't be fucking anything for a long while; the mere thought of it is going to cause him extreme pain.……" He smiled, but it quickly died into a frown, "Be more careful." With that, he turned and strolled back outside, slamming the screen door behind him.

Julie silently watched him; her large blue eyes sparkling with some sort of newly found admiration.

* * *

A few nights later, something that had been bothering Bill quite a bit lately finally surfaced. It just happened to be right in the middle of having sex with Mariana. Perhaps it was because he was attempting to play the classic male longevity internal mind game of trying to think of anything but what he was actually doing. Instead, the thought only caused him to stop completely.

He stared down at Mariana, his palms planted onto the bed on either side of her head. It was fairly dark in his room, but he could see the surprised gleam in her eyes as she stared back up at him.

"Bill………………why did you stop?" She spoke up a little breathlessly.

He tried to sort out his thoughts. "Promise me something Mariana?"

She smiled, "If you will not stop like this…….then yes I will." Her hands strayed to his hips playfully.

He shook his head, long hair falling over his face. He swiped it away, "No, I'm being serious…..you have to promise me."

"Well…..." she shifted a little, "….what am I promising to do?"

"Promise me, from this moment on…….that you will not sleep with any other man than me."

"What?" Her calves dropped away from his sides, "But, how…..how am I-"

"Don't worry about that. I know how to get around it."

"But, Estiban….," she pushed herself up on her elbows, "…he will be-"

"Forget about Estiban, let me handle it all." He bent down and kissed her, "I know I can."

She backed away, "Estiban will kill you, if he finds out you are tricking him…"

He smirked, "He won't kill me."

"I don't want anything to happen to you……because of me."

"And nothing will, I promise," He whispered and ran a hand through her somewhat tussled hair "I don't want you with any other men, even it is just your job. I want you to be with me only. I can't handle thinking about you fucking other men." There he'd said it. It had been bugging the hell out of him and it felt good to finally get it out. He of course wasn't going to tell Mariana that he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that he would literally kill any man who put his hands on Mariana at this point. This seemed rather silly when it came to a prostitute. But, he had now made sure that Mariana was no longer a prostitute. She was his gal, now just posing as a prostitute. There was no denying that Bill was possessive and jealous sort; he always would be.

It was more than that though. He realized that he wanted to help Mariana. He wanted to help her become more than she had set herself up to be. She didn't need to sell her body to make money, or make her feel good about herself. She was capable of more than that. He wanted her to not only be his lover; he wanted to teach her the things he knew; make her something more. He also wanted to protect her.

"I'll protect you Mariana……," he whispered; still toying with her hair"…and I'll give you anything you want. Don't worry about Estiban, don't worry about money……don't' worry about anything……I love you."

And there they were: those infamously overused but innately powerful words. They just came out before he had time to really think about what he was saying. But once voiced, he didn't regret them. He meant it; he loved her. He would certainly question it later, but at the moment, he meant what he'd just said.

She stared up at him; her eyes widening even further. Her elegant hands strayed to his face, "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes…..." He kissed her deeply, but after a moment she pulled away.

"I…..." she faltered, "….I don't know what to say….."

In other words she didn't' know if she was ready to respond to what he'd just said. But that was fine with him; somehow he understood, and at the moment it didn't matter. It had been hard enough to say it…he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it just yet.

He smiled; holding her face between his hands. "You don't have to say anything……"

With a look of immense relief and affection, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down fully against her.

The next morning Bill's deception nearly almost fell apart before it had really begun.

Normally Estiban was very good about respecting Bill's privacy, but this morning he poked his head into Bill's room without knocking.

Bill was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, pulling on a pair of slacks. Just the very top of Mariana's head was sticking up above the covers; a mass of dark brown hair covering her face. When he saw Estiban at the door he nearly jumped. He glanced quickly at Mariana; a sickening lump forming in his stomach.

But Estiban only smiled proudly; giving Bill a little wink.

It then dawned upon Bill that Estiban couldn't even tell that it was Mariana in his bed. Her hair color was so similar to many Hispanic women's, that it would be impossible to tell it was her. She just had to keep still….not move the covers and Estiban wouldn't know the difference.

Bill smoothly played it up. He put on the indifferent air of a young man who'd just gotten some casual ass. Approaching Estiban at the door, he smiled, jabbing a thumb back towards the bed, "Sonia," he murmured, "…you know, she works at the El Rio. I came in there last week, she gives me this look…..I told her to stop by for the night if she ever got sick of her husband."

Estiban chuckled; clapping Bill on the bare shoulder. "You're going to give me a run for my money boy…"

Bill hid a smirk. Oh yes, he certainly was.

"The reason I stopped by," Estiban continued; smoothing out his dress shirt, "…is I'm going to be leaving tomorrow for Spain. My brother Roberto has turned for the worst." Estiban had a much older brother who lived in Madrid. He'd been battling lung cancer for years. It had been an ongoing source of distress of Estiban, since he knew the inevitable outcome. "I am going to be leaving for three months."

Bill raised his brows, "Three months?"

"Yes, most likely….I have put Layla in charge of my whores." The appropriately named Layla had been Estiban's 'number one lady' for the past two years. She was a temptress extraordinaire and Bill avoided her like the plague. "I did not think you quite ready to take on the whole bunch yet. " The older pimp continued, "So, you will keep at it with your duties…..and we will see how everything is when I get back. Yes?"

Bill nodded. He was already scheming. Three whole months? "Yes…of course…." He smiled.

"Good," Estiban turned to leave. "I will check in with you before I leave." His flinty eyes flicked to the sleeping form of Mariana. "Sonia, eh? Long legs?"

Bill smirked, "Oh yes…"

Winking, Estiban left the room and shut the door behind him. As soon as it was shut, Bill up slumped against it in immense relief.

* * *

It was only a few days into Estiban's absence. Bill was sitting on the back steps; Mariana perched on his lap. Hardly anybody was around, and Bill had a suspicion that Layla had taken all of her girls somewhere to do some well needed partying. That was just fine with him. All he cared about was spending this time with Mariana.

"Look," he murmured into her ear; holding up a partially carved up piece of wood, "I started making this for you…."

She took it in her long fingers, "What is it?"

"Well….hopefully it will be a comb….," he looked at the wood chunk skeptically, "...but….then again…it might end up looking more like an archaic fork..."

She smiled brightly; laughing a little, "I'm sure it will be beautiful…." She said softly; a hand straying out to push the hair back from his forehead.

Gazing up at her with immensely warm affection; he leaned forward….

"Hola!"

They both froze and turned at the sound of the childish voice.

As noted, Valerie had a nine year old son named Samuel. Bill had seen the kid hanging around the house a couple of times in the past few years, but he'd never actually talked to him. Now that Bill was Valerie's pimp; the boy seemed interested in checking out the young man who'd 'replaced' Estiban so to speak.

'Hola," Mariana replied. She looked at the boy with innate maternal fondness.

Samuel was a striking child. He had Valerie's hazel eyes, deep brown skin and a head of dark curly hair. He was a strange but very beautiful blend of Hispanic and African-American features. He was quite skinny. His boney shoulders poked up from the dirty tank top he was wearing, and his thin legs jutted out from underneath this ripped jean shorts. He was barefoot.

Bill was instantly reminded of himself at that age.

"How are you Samuel?" He asked; shifting a little. Much to his great disappointment, Mariana stood and approached the youngster.

"Kinda shitty actually," the boy replied with a scowl. Mariana stopped and stared at him; obviously taken back by his language.

Bill just laughed, "Really?"

"Yeah," Samuel jabbed his hands in the pockets of his jean shorts. He kicked at the dirt. "So, you're my mother's new pimp?"

"That's right," Bill leaned back against the stairs and dug out his pack of cigarettes.

Samuel watched him intensely as he lit up on one of them.

"You want one?" Bill asked; holding out the pack.

"Bill!" Mariana glared at him; a hand on her hip.

"What?" he glanced up at her, "The kid wants a smoke."

"Nah….that's alright," Samuel kicked at the dirt again.

"I have some weed if you prefer that kid," Bill offered; a smart ass look focused on Mariana.

"Jesus Bill," she snarled and tramped up the steps through the back door.

Samuel gawked at her exit, and then shook his head, "No thanks….that makes me throw up."

Bill shrugged.

Without any real invitation, Samuel sent and sat down next to him. Bill glanced at the boy, once again reminded of himself. He remembered what it was like to be nine years old and living in this house. He knew what it was like to have a whore for a mother.

"So……I heard you….beat people up," the boy piped up; picking at the crumbling asphalt with his fingernails.

"I've done some of that……yes," Bill replied with a bemused smirk.

Samuel turned to look up at him, "Can you teach me to beat up some kids at school."

Bill's brow furrowed. He took a long drag on his cigarette, "What did they do to you?"

Samuel bent his head back to the asphalt, "They are always giving me shit…….pushing me around. Making fun of me….calling me all sorts of names…..because of my mother….and because…….," he paused, "….of my skin color….shit like that, ya know."

Bill continued to look at the boy with an introspective expression. He had always been just a little too light to be accepted, and in Samuel's case, he was just a little too dark. They seemingly shared this strange bond, and Bill had a sudden rush of sympathy for the kid. "Alright….," he agreed finally, "I've gotta go inside and gravel at my girl's feet right now…." Samuel grinned at him. "But," he tossed aside his cigarette, "…why don't you come back tomorrow….same time. I'll show you a couple things that helped me out when I was your age."

Samuel jumped up. "Great!" A bight smile split his dark face, "Gracias!"

"Su bienvenida," Bill nodded.

"Hey uh….," Samuel's eyes darted to the partially exposed pack of Chesterfields sitting in the pocket of Bill's shirt, "Could I get a smoke from ya now?"

Smirking, Bill held out the pack to him, "But of course."

* * *

"Bill, I want to go to L.A….to see The Beatles play."

Julie had this way of just walking in and saying the most stupidly ridiculous things. Sometimes it just rubbed Bill the wrong way.

"What?" He put down the book he'd been reading. She was supposed to be taking a call, not pestering him about going to goddamn L.A. to see some obscure band play on stage.

"The Beatles…ya know…they're from England. It's their first US concert tour….and they are comin' to L.A. in a couple months. I wanna go." She looked at him earnestly with those huge blue eyes of hers.

He shook his head; dismissively going back to his book, "No, you're not going."

"But all of the girls my age are going!"

"Neither are all of the girls your age whores. I said no. You need to work." He was having trouble covering the dividend for Mariana not working. Somebody had to pick up the slack.

Julie's eyelids drooped, easily defeated by his sharp retort. "Oh…alright….." She turned away solemnly.

Once her back was turned, he glanced up from his book; regarding her with a pensive look as she trudged down the hallway towards her room.

Later that week, while running some errands downtown, he stopped into the one and only real music store in Acuna. It was run by an elderly man who'd been old for as long as Bill could remember seeing him around. The store was small and cluttered, but it was not without a good selection; so when Bill approached the counter and asked if there were any Beatles albums in stock he wasn't all too surprised to find out there was in fact some on the shelves. He of course, assumed this was because of the good variety the wise old owner kept, and not because of the notoriety of some stupid teeny bopper band.

That afternoon, Bill found Julie sitting on her bed. She was writing furiously in a small diary style book. She glanced up nervously when he sauntered in; hands behind his back.

"Oh….I'm sorry Bill…..I…uh….I was just resin' for awhile…no calls right now…..." She closed and set aside the diary. Her eyes flickered to his chest, "Whatcha hidin back there'?"

He just smiled at her slyly as he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed; sneakily positioning himself so she couldn't see what he was holding.

She laughed a little and tried to maneuver around him. "Come on, show me!" Her eyes danced as she made a grab, but he quickly moved away. "Show me!"

Laughing now as well, he easily averted her. But after a moment of that little game, he gave in and held the record out to her.

She stared at the record; aptly titled "Meet The Beatles" for a few seconds. A large black and white picture of four mop headed hipsters stared back at her from the cover. "Oh my god….," she whispered. "Oh…..wow………" She reached out to take it, but quickly looked up at him.

"It's yours," he replied; smiling widely now.

"But……I…….I don't have a record player….."

"Use the one in the living room……"

"Oh…..oh no….I can't do that……I can't take this either…….you bought it…"

"I bought it for you…..." he said softly, pushing the record into her hands.

She took the record as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held. And to a girl like Julie; that was very likely. She'd come from nothing, She'd never had much and nobody had ever bought much of anything for her. A record was far more than simply a record to her.

She pressed the gift to her plump chest; her chin bowed in gratitude. "I don't know what ta say Bill……thank you…."

He raised a brow, "Just remember, you can play it as much as you want while Estiban is gone….when you're not working of course, and not loudly. But when he gets back….you're going to have to find somewhere else to play it. Or get your own record player……ok?"

She looked up him, eyes gleaming with moisture, "Oh yeah…of course…sure thing Bill……." Then suddenly she threw herself at him; flinging her arms around his neck. The record was momentarily sandwiched between them. She kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek; whispering; "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you….. She moved to kiss him on the lips, but he placed a finger over her own set before she could make any real contact.

"No." He said sternly; glaring into her closely positioned face, "No…"

She pulled away quickly; her plump cheeks reddening, "Aww….jeez….sorry Bill…..that's not what I meant…..sorry….."

"It's alright," he said in a softer tone; smoothly letting it go and pushing the record back into her arms. "Now, you better be careful with that thing."

She glanced at him excitedly, "Do ya think it's gunna be worth somethin' big someday?"

He snorted; standing up, "Hell no…..I was just worried you were going to scratch it beyond playability."

"Oh yeah….," she laughed nervously and gently set the record aside. "Thanks….yeah…..uh…sorry again….about the…..uh….the ki-"

"Forget it," he waved a hand and headed for the doorway. "Just remember," he added with a well meaning scowl, "….when Estiban gets back….," he made the universal throat cutting gesture and left the room with a purposefully dramatic exit.

Julie nodded, her smile brightening. She barely held back another bout of nervous laughter as she watched him disappear down the hallway.

* * *

Deciding to further take advantage of Estiban's absence, Bill and Mariana took a drive up to San Antonio, Texas. Apparently a friend of Mariana's from Mexico City had moved up there with her boyfriend a of couple months back. There was a big all county couples dance, and Mariana was dead set on dragging Bill up there to 'double date' with her friend and her friend's man. Like hell Bill wanted to go to some dance for Texan squares and momma's boys. But Mariana really wanted to go, and he agreed only to appease her.

They took the Minor of course. Bill spent the entire drive mentally willing the car not to break down somewhere in Southern Texas. But they made it, with just an hour to spare before the dance started.

The dance was being held in a large renovated gymnasium in the heart of the San Antonio suburbs. They met up with Mariana's friend and her friend's boyfriend. Mariana's friend instantly annoyed the hell out of Bill; but he kept that observation to himself. The boyfriend on the other hand seemed like a fairly decent type of guy; he smoked Chesterfield's and wore a cool black leather jacket.

Bill frowned deeply when they entered the dimmed gymnasium. It was full of middle class white people, and he had the sudden urge to turn around and leave. The only Hispanics he saw were Mariana, her friend, and a few guys out back dumping the trash. He had to keep reminding himself he was doing this for Mariana; and that was it.

The two couples meandered to a corner. Bill spent a few minutes watching the band set up on stage. At least they looked multicultural. Mariana and her friend chatted away about stuff he didn't care about. Bill noticed that his comrade-in arms, the boyfriend, had disappeared somewhere. Scowling, Bill turned to Mariana. "I'm going to go get something to eat…..." he mumbled.

When Bill approached the concessions table, he was horrified to see platefuls of tiny cookies and a massive bowel of disgustingly bright colored punch.

A plump woman personifying Betty Crocker was standing behind the table wearing a polka dot apron and a wide smile on her pink glossed over lips.

He stared down with a furrowed brow at the cardboard looking cookies set out on nauseatingly peppy colored napkins. He was fucking hungry as hell and this was not exactly what he had in mind. He was also hoping they'd at least have a bar; apparently that wasn't the case.

"What can I get ya honey?" The woman behind the table drawled ala southern Texas suburban style.

He glanced up at "Betty" with a coyly raised brow, "I'll have a scotch whiskey on the rocks."

"Can't give you that honey, how about some punch instead?"

"Southern Comfort then?" Bill remained sarcastically undaunted.

"Oh no dear," she shook her frizzy haired head, "We don't' serve alcohol here…state law. Most here aren't even twenty-one……" she peered at him a little closer in the dim lighting, as if trying to figure out exactly how old he was.

He snorted, "Alright…..I suppose I'll take glass of he gestured to the bowl of punch. It would have to do; he just wished he'd brought something to spike it with.

Smiling anew, the woman went cheerfully about pouring punch into a cup with the massive dipping spoon.

"Actually, I'll take two," he added after a moment; thinking of Mariana.

"You betcha." The woman bent down and produced a large plastic looking pitcher from underneath the table. "Bowl's almost empty, let me just pour a lil' bit more in there first…."

He gawked at the strangely colored pitcher in her hands. He'd never seen a container quite like that before. "What is that?"

The woman looked up at him, "That….my dear, is Tupperware!" He stared back at her blankly. "You haven't heard of Tupperware? Oh my goodness…it's the best thing to come out of this country since Franklin Delenor Roosevelt!" She popped open the top seal; "See?" She popped it back on, "Keeps everything fresh and tightly secured. Works like a charm! The ladies and I….from the neighborhood, we get together every Thursday afternoon and trade around all of the wonderful varieties available. A real nice fella from Tuscan comes around every month and shows us the new line……"

Bill stared at her as she rambled on; horrified. "Jesus fucking Christ." He snarled and snatched the two plastic punch glasses from her hands. He turned away before he had to hear anymore of the drivel coming out of her mouth.

He found Mariana where he'd left her; chatting with her friend in the corner. He handed her one on of the cups; frowning, "Ever heard of Tupperware?"

Mariana and her friend exchanged glances and then broke out into laughter.

"Apparently," He grumbled under his breath; knocking back the entire glass of punch in one shot. It tasted like shit. He wondered briefly where the hell the Mariana's friend's boyfriend had run off to. He was probably out back with a bunch of his friends, getting wasted; lucky bastard.

Bill scowled at the empty glass; a small heap of half-melted ice cubes remained. Had he been living under a fucking rock for the first eighteen years of his life? Well, he certainly had been living under something that attracted the dirt and scum but didn't attract Tupperware salesmen.

It was in moments like this that he realized just how little he felt a part of, or cared for 'normal' society. He never had really fully grasped how abnormal his childhood had been until the last couple of years. Apparently most young people his age didn't grow up in a house of prostitution in a corrupted Mexican border town; where they regularly got into fights, avoided their whore of a mother, shoplifted, broke into cars and houses, toted guns, drank, smoked, often slept with lusty girls, extorted money and pretty much did whatever the hell they wanted to. Not to mention Bill was pretty damn sure he was the only working pimp in this entire building, and very likely this entire county.

To each their own he supposed.

The warmth of Mariana's arms encircling him from behind rustled him out of his thoughts. "So, are we going to dance…," she murmured into his ear, "….or are you just going to stand there and be grumpy all night?"

He was tempted to stay 'grumpy', but in the end he'd rather make her happy. Turning, he took her hand with a sly smile. "Very well…..but let's show these fucking squares how we do it South of the border."

And they did. They danced the night away to covers of Bobby Darin, Roy Orbison and The Supremes. For a few hours Bill could almost pretend he was a normal young man, going to a dance with this girl. But it was pretty obvious even then he stood out. All of the other young men on the dance floor were in their father's suits and sporting fresh buzz cuts. While Bill was the type that all of their mother's would have feared them to become, with his long hair, completely lacking in a proper jacket, halfway unbuttoned shirt, flashy belt buckle and languid caviler attitude.

Likewise, the way he and Marianna danced was apparently not within the norm of what was deemed appropriate. They danced as if it was some form of foreplay; which it really was. While the rest of the couples danced as if their arms had no working elbow joints, It turns out it was strictly against the rules to kiss on the dance floor, but Bill and Mariana only became aware of this particular rule when they were told to stop their fornicating or they would be kicked out.

"Goddamn squares," Bill growled and leaned in to kiss Mariana again. He could only hope they would be so lucky as to be kicked out. They received a god amount of stares and whispers from all those round them, he Bill knew they were secretly all jealous and relished in every second of it.

Afterwards, they left with a group of people that Mariana's friend's boyfriend had rounded up. They certainly weren't the typical buzz cut sort; two young black musicians from the cover band at the dance, a group of guys who looked like they raced cars on a regular basis, a few scantily clad girls, and a middle aged Hispanic man who was already drunk. Now they were much more Bill's sort of crowd. They all crowded into one of the car racer's apartments, listened to Ray Charles records, smoked some grass and hung out for a few hours. Bill felt much more at ease after that. Then he and Mariana took the Morris Minor up to the hills where they did far more than just make out.

The next morning, Bill awoke to the sun's early rays streaming in through the car windows. Mariana was still asleep; her head resting on his chest, naked body huddled up against him. The remainders of their clothing were haphazardly draped over them as makeshift covers. The back seat was neither roomy nor all that comfortable, but when one was young and lustful it was easy to make amends for such things.

He laid there for awhile; truly content. He wasn't sure what it was: the orange streams of sunlight cutting across the rich turquoise sky, the feeling of Mariana's body against his, the growing affection he felt for her…..but he was moved. So moved, in fact…that he suddenly said something he swore he'd never say; something that Julio had known he would say.

"Mariana?" He murmured.

"Hrm?" She replied groggily, shifting against him.

"Marry me…."

She picked her head up; instantly awake. She gaped at him for a few seconds, eyes wide. "You are joking Bill…..don't joke about that…that's cruel….."

"No, I'm serious." And looked it.

She stumbled over her words," We can't…..Estiban…..I mean…he'll find out…and…"

"Don't' worry about Estiban. I'll take care of it." He caressed her cheek, "We can get married away together. Maybe further south….or perhaps Texas, or New Mexico. It doesn't matter…as long as we are together."

She said nothing, staring at him; obviously still in shock.

He shifted his shoulders, "I'm serious Mariana. I want us to get married. I want us to have a life together…..I," he paused, "….I want you to have my baby."

She blinked back a sudden rush of tears. She tried to brush them away, but it was pretty useless. Realizing she was about to break down, she laughed a little. But it was a short lived laugh, and she was suddenly quite serious," I love you Bill…." She whispered; pressing her tear sprinkled face against his cheek.

He held her to him; fingers buried in her hair. After a few tender moments, he raised a brow, "Is that a yes then?"

"Of course it's a yes…..you smart ass…" She laughed; pulling away with a wide smile.

He returned the smile; dark eyes sparkling. He as so happy at that moment, that the entire world could go to hell and he wouldn't give a damn. He was going to marry the woman he loved.

Mariana traced a fingertip along his collarbone. "I don't think we should leave just yet….," she said silkily, rolling fully on top of him, open mouth coming down on top of his.

By the time they made it back into Acuna, it was well into the afternoon and Bill had to spin one hell of a story to Julie and Valerie and the rest to explain where he and Mariana had been for the last 12 hours.

They both agreed to keep their marriage pact between them for now. Once Estiban got back they would work it out with him.

* * *

Those three months of Estiban's absence were, without a doubt, the sweetest of Bill's young life. He didn't touch a gun, he didn't beat anybody up. He did virtually nothing but be with Mariana in every way possible, as much as possible. It was bliss; full of sweet and erotic moments. It was so powerful in fact, that he could almost forget everything that he had done and experienced before her. He could almost forget that he was a bastard. That he truly liked to hurt people…and that, deep down, he knew what he was capable of doing and being. During those three months he was nothing more than a young man in love for the first time.

Being with Mariana was unlike any other experience that he'd had with a woman before.

In the middle of the day they would go back into his room, with the bamboo mats hanging in the place of windows, and make love on his futon style bed for what seemed like days on end. Afterwards, he'd proudly tell her about things…things he'd done, which was allot of bad things mostly. He'd also tell her stories about where he'd been, and often they would work on her English; which she was getting much better at. Sometimes he'd even tell her about books he'd read or about some of his strange theories on things. He'd usually loose her at that point, and she'd pick up his hand and place it on her supple breasts. He tended to shut up after that.

These the happiest times of Bill's rough youth. It was one of those "summers", those periods of time in your life that were so good, so sweet, so idealized…that as you got older, you realized just how few and far between they actually were. But in the ignorance of youth it was all taken for granted; everything was so easily tossed aside for young lust and juvenile feelings of attachment.

If Bill had only known then just how few moments like this he would have in his life, he might have truly taken a moment to sit back and really appreciate it while it was happening.

He did the best he could to keep up with his pimping duties, but admittedly he was slipping in that area. He was just too distracted to care. He did keep his promise to Samuel though. Every week, the two of them would go into the back yard and Bill would teach the boy what he knew about self defense. Sometimes Samuel would join Bill and Mariana on walks, and it would be the three of them, like some strange family.

Most evenings Bill and Mariana would go to this small restaurant outside of town. It was a very old place with dim lighting and very strong tequila. Bill had gotten to know the owner through his various dealings with businesses around town.

Mariana had a beautiful voice. So, she'd get up on the small corner stage and sing with the ragged mariachi band. They'd usually sing traditional Mexican folk songs and were always a hit with the craggy old-school crowd that frequented there.

Bill would sit back in the dark corner, enraptured, his attention on nothing but Mariana as she stood up there on the stage bathed in warm red lighting. She'd cast him subtle little glances as she sang; her eyes flickering under her long eyelashes, her mouth turning up in a sly little smile. It was sexy, alluring and completely intoxicating. Often, he'd forget about the cigarette perched between his fingers, until it would burn down to a stub and singe his skin. This would usually cause him to flinch out of his reverie of his reoccurring vision of he and Mariana.

The vision of he and Mariana would always happen when he watched her sing. It wasn't just a pipe dream either; he would often slip into it fully sober. In this vision they were living together in a place that was always hot and always bright with summer sun. Everything was drenched in bright overexposed colors; sandy oranges and yellows. Mariana would be wearing one of her loose traditional style dresses; her hair brushing across her face and her bare feet padding across the sand. Then, she'd pick up a young child….their child; a dark haired, dark eyed child awash in light. The child could have been a boy or a girl….Bill didn't care either way. He'd be there, next to her….and she'd hand him the child, and he would smile…taking the toddler in his arms, bouncing it and laughing. He was never quite clear on where they were; they had little money. But they had each other…….and that was enough.

It was a youthful fantasy; trenched in idealism. In the coming years he would deny ever having such hopes and dreams for himself. But, he had…for a short time. They were unrealistic dreams, and he would never truly have been happy in such a blissfully peaceful life. Right now, he was pretending that he could. But deep down, h knew the truth: he thrived on violence, strife, a constant need for self centered and egomaniacal empowerment. That sort of life had no room for such petty things as a wife and a child. He'd even grow to eventually make fun of those who had such dreams: telling them that such things were a waste of talent and a pitiful blending into "normal" society….as if such patriarchal fantasies were something to be looked down upon. But, then again….Bill did many things during these younger years that he would later disregard any ownership of. They were traces of weakness that he did not want to fess up to.

But at the moment, he felt anything but weak. He felt perfectly content and he had high hopes that within the next couple of months he and Mariana could leave Acuna together. Mariana would never have to be a whore again; he would see to that. And even if Estiban protested to the arrangement, Bill was ready to walk out anyways.

One night; after getting back from the restaurant, Valerie confronted him out back. He had seen very little of her throughout the past couple of weeks, as if she was avoiding more than usual. Mariana had gone inside to get ready for bed and Bill had remained on the back porch to have a smoke before joining her.

"Don't think I don't know what's going on Bill," he turned to see Valerie framed in the screen door watching him intensely.

He squinted at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh please, I may be a whore…but I'm not stupid." She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, "It's pretty obvious what's going on between you and Mariana. The whole house knows about it. I also know you haven't been whoring her out either. You've been making up the missing profit from your own pocket."

"I didn't know a whore could be so astute Valerie." He replied dryly.

His smug smile turned acidic as she crossed her arms, "I wonder how Estiban would react if he found out?"

"Yes, I wonder." He wasn't about to give into her little game. He knew that Valerie had never liked him all that much. He could only assume it was a combination of having the ear of his mother and resenting having been 'given' to him by Estiban after years of loyal service to the man.

"How convenient for you that he's been gone…..." she continued righteously.

"Hrm," he tossed the butt of his cigarette at her feet.

She didn't move. "Your mother knows as well."

Bill said nothing; giving her a sidelong glare.

"Oh," Valerie added, "And what the hell have you been teaching my son?"

"How to stand up for himself."

"Mamarracho!" She hissed. Obviously this topic was a little more sensitive for her. "You've been corrupting him. The other day he told me to go fuck myself. And then he came home with a black eye the week before. He proudly told me that the other kid looked far worse."

Bill resisted a proud smile. Samuel was doing just fine. He took a deep breath; attempting to keep calm. "As I said, I taught him to stand up for himself. He reminds me of myself when I was his age."

"Oh…well that's just great," she threw her hands up. "You're just about the last person I'd want my son to be like."

He raised his chin. "I highly doubt you talked to Estiban like this."

"No, I didn't….and you know why?" She glared at him furiously, "Because Estiban is a pump. You Bill, you are not. I don't know what the fuck you are….but a pimp is definitely not it."

Pursing his lips, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and ascended the porch steps. "That Valerie is perhaps the first thing we have agreed on," he growled. The door slammed behind him as he stalked into the house.

* * *

The insistent pounding on Bill's bedroom door roused him long before he had intended to wake up. The early morning sun was barely even touching the bamboo slats in his windows.

Groaning, he rolled over, bumping pleasantly into the warm body of Mariana. He smiled; a hand straying to her soft sloping neckline. The pounding on the door continued.

"WHAT?" He turned and yelled far louder than necessary.

"You've gotta get up Bill," it was Valerie; still sounding frosty with him, "It's Julie…..she's gone. She was gone when I woke up…..she's not in her room…and I can't find her anywhere….her purse is missing too……"

"Fuck," Bill cursed, rubbing his face irritably. He fumbled out of bed; quickly getting dressed.

Mariana squinted at him through groggy eyelids from under her warm cocoon of sheets, "What is it?"

"Julie," he grumbled, buttoning his shirt, "She took off."

"How do you know…maybe she's…..just out….," Mariana mumbled, still halfway asleep.

"Oh no…..she took off," he said confidently, "I know she did." He stalked out of the room and headed out to the Morris Minor in the driveway.

On a strong whim, Bill took the exit onto the northbound highway. He'd only been on the main stretch for about two miles before he spotted Julie walking along the left hand side of the road. It was barely past sunrise and her silhouette was easy to spot against the bright rays of sunlight washing off the desolate highway.

She was walking slowly, almost dreamlike. Her faded worn sundress was blowing in the soft morning breeze as her sandaled feet padded gingerly along the searing hot pavement. She was swinging her ribbon handled purse in one hand; the record he'd bought her was held lovingly in the other.

Bill slowed the car, coming up alongside her and leaned out of the open window with a deep scowl, "Julie, what in the hell do you think your doing?" He spoke in the calmest tone he could possibly muster.

She raised her chin, still walking and keeping her eyes straight forward. She didn't seem all that surprised to see him. "I'm goin' to see The Beatles, in Los Angeles…."

Bill sneered, "You're going to hitchhike to L.A.?" He shook his head, "I don't think so. Get in the car."

"No. I've hitchhiked allot……"

He slammed on the breaks, "I said get in the fucking car Julie!"

"I want to go see The Beatles!" She yelled back. She had stopped and finally looked at him. There was a look of uncharacteristic defiance in her eyes.

"You're not going to see the goddamn Beatles….," he seethed, glaring at her, "…you're going to get in the goddamn car and we are going to go back to Acuna."

Turning away, she started walking again, "I quit then….I don't want to be a whore anymore."

Bill shook his head; following alongside her, "Uh uh….good try. It doesn't work like that. You're a whore; now get in the fucking car! You can't walk the highway alone, it's far too dangerous."

She turned to him again, an excited dreamy smile suddenly on her face, "Will you take me then Bill….to the concert? We can go together….it'll be a real blast..I-"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE GODDAMN FUCKING BEATLES!" He roared at her; slamming a fist down on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath through flared nostrils, and continued on. "What I do give a shit about is you getting in this car and getting you back into Acuna!" He leaned out further towards her, voice dropping to a threatening tone, "You're going to get in this car Julie, or I'm going to force you to get into this car….and don't think I won't either."

She said nothing; simply turning her head away from him. She rubbed her purse wielding hand across her suddenly tearing eyes.

"Don't you understand?" He hissed, "You can't hitchhike to L.A. This isn't fucking……..Venice Beach! This is a trucker route. You're going to get picked up and raped….or worse……for Christ's sake. Now get in the car!"

Glowering, he kicked open the car door and stepped out onto the highway. He snatched her by the forearm. She fought him briefly, face down turned to the pavement. Then she just flat out stopped and crossed her arms over her chest.

He held the door open for her, glaring down at her with a dark squint, "In…..now!" He jabbed a finger towards the open car door.

She hesitated, her head still bent towards the hot asphalt, the toe of her sandal tapping at the ground like a small idle child. And right then she did look like a little child; Bill realized that all this girl really wanted was to have some fun of her own. She wanted to just be a kid; a kid who didn't have to lie back and let dirty men fuck her day in and day out. She wanted her childhood back, but she'd sold it….it was too late. She couldn't go back and she simply could not understand that.

Taking a step towards her, he wrapped an arm around her round shoulders, "Julie……get in the car honey….," he said softly, completely changing his tactics, and placing a kiss lightly on her forehead , "Come on," he said gently, slowly leading her towards the car. She complied with a nod and a sniff; silently sliding over to the passenger's side. He followed her in, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Relieved that that had worked, he turned the car around and headed back into Acuna. Julie was utterly silent; her face turned out towards her window. She rubbed at her eyes and then took her time reapplying her pink lipstick from a tube she had produced from her purse. Regarding her briefly, Bill lit up a cigarette and drove on in silence.

"Can I still watch the Ed Sullivan show then?" She suddenly piped up a few minutes later; as they were nearing Estiban's place.

He glanced at her, offering a brief soft smile, "Yes…..you can keep watching the Ed Sullivan show."

She bit her lip. "You won't say nothin' to Estiban…..about this, when he gets back and all?"

"I won't tell Estiban about this." Bill had far bigger things to worry about than Estiban finding out that Julie had taken a little stroll down the highway.

She twisted the worn ribbon handle of her purse between her fleshy fingers, and flashed him a grateful shy smile, "Thanks Bill…….ya know……you're a real sweetheart. I wish more guys were like you."

Resisting a bitter snort, he frowned and said nothing in reply.

She shifted a little in the seat. "Bill……….I know about you and Mariana."

He turned to her with a casually raised brow, "Oh?"

"Yeah well….," she laughed a little, "I mean….we do share a room. And….well she pretty much ain't never there. But that's alirght….I like havin' it to myself, when Johns ain't there. It's kinda nice. I'm thinkin' I might buy that record player you mentioned with my saved up money. Do ya think that would be alright?"

Bill continued to drive, not saying anything. He had to tread carefully with this subject, especially with a girl like Julie.

"I think it's real sweet……you and her," she admitted quietly after another long pause. "Makes me wish……..I had a fella like you….."

He glanced at her with a furrowed brow, "Julie….you don't want a fella like me."

"Mariana does."

"Yes, well……sometimes things work between certain people, that wouldn't with others."

"Oh, sure I understand that….it's just-"

"We're done talking about this," he cut her off, throwing a sharp glare in her direction. "I don't want to hear another word about it from you."

She bowed her head. "Yes Bill."

The rest of the short trip was spent in silence.

* * *

The true cynic would say that every sweet dream must eventually end, and this one was just about there.

Bill was never destined to live a carefree life with Mariana; raising a child in some bright fantasy world, playing the loving husband and father. No, his life was destined to be something quite different; something far more self fulfilling, something violent and largely solitary.

The unraveling of Bill's ideal world began the day Estiban returned; although that was really just consequential. It began with one single event and went completely downhill from there. It was this series of events that would make a drastic dent on Bill, and eventually cause him to leave Mexico altogether. He'd built a house of cards, and in a matter of days, it would all crumble around him.

It all happened so quickly; the day before, Bill was completely content in his denial of who he was and loving the life he had made for himself…..the next day, it was all turned upside down.

The night before these events transpired; Bill had his childhood desert dream again. He hadn't had it for years, and he was sure he'd outgrown it. Apparently that was not the case. It was more intense than it had ever been. The imagery was much the same; the reptile morphing, the endless desert, the continuous eating of anything in the way. But this time, the emotions connected to it were extremely potent. There was a sense of almost indefinable anger and limitless rage connected throughout the entire dream sequence. He felt as if he had just killed a thousand people, and loved every second of it. It was disturbing as much as it was exhilarating. And what was most unsettling was that, while normally in the dream the faces of his victims were featureless, obscured….this time he distinctly saw the face of Julio amongst the otherwise faceless crowd.

He awoke in the early morning hours to the sound of Estiban ranting and raving from the back porch. Mariana was not next to him. Her side of the bed was cold. When he went out into the living room area; Estiban had come back inside, and was noticeably cool and short with him.

Assuming that it was only a matter of time before he had to fully explain himself to his father figure, Bill went to go find Mariana. They would talk to Estiban together. They would all have a rational discussion and everything work out just fine.

He decided to look for her first in the most logical place; the room that she and Julie shared. He rounded the hallway corner. The familiar door was partially ajar, and assuming she was inside alone, he entered the room.

He froze.

For the briefest of seconds, Bill was once again that young boy walking in on his mother fucking some stranger. But this time, it was his woman fucking some stranger. Well, just having fucked some stranger was more like it…..but it was clear enough what had happened.

Mariana was partially turned away from him; her upper body naked and exposed. A thin sheet was partially draped over her long legs. A skinny, balding man Bill didn't recognize was sitting on the edge of the bed in his briefs. He was in the process of pulling on his jeans. They both turned and looked at Bill. The man looked a little confused, but the expression on Mariana's face spoke volumes.

It hurt. It really did. Bill could act as jaded as he wanted to at eighteen years old; but what he saw…..it fucking hurt. It hurt worse than getting his nose broken, or getting sliced open with a knife. It hurt worse than Julio's death and it hurt worse than the cold shoulder of his mother. A wise man once said: 'the first cut is the deepest' and he wasn't lying either.

But Bill would have more than enough time to reflect on his broken heart later. At the moment, all he could handle was a wave of uncontrollable anger. All of those months of playing the sweet lover, of checking his aggressions and pretending to be something he was not, at that moment were all dashed aside like so many meaningless child's toys no longer wanted or needed.

He couldn't' look at Mariana…not right now. Instead, he turned his attention on the stranger, "You," he leveled a finger and a murderous glare at the hastily dressing man; voice so quiet it was barely audible, "……have about thirty seconds to run."

The man fumbled with his belt; standing up awkwardly. "What?"

Bill pulled away from the doorframe and stepped into the hallway; eyes uncharacteristically wide and gleaming, "That's how long it's going to take me to get my gun…."

The man stared at him; jaw agape.

Bill backed away slowly; that nearly forgotten maniacal look in his eyes increasing.

"Run….."


	6. Chap 1 Part 5: The Breaking Point

Author's Note - For effects sake, all dialogue in this chapter is intended to be spoken in Spanish, unless noted. I have included some smatterings of (possibly inaccurate) Spanish to give the overall atmosphere.

I would like to put in an advisory warning for this chapter, because I feel there are moments where the content might go a little beyond the limits of a "T" rating; although I think the majority of the chapter is still fine within the category.

**Chapter 1**

**The Acuna Boys**

**Part 5**

**The Breaking Point**

"_Heaven help me, I know what I am._

_Heaven help me, I know what I am._

_Won't you lend a hand to this twisted little man?_

_The sweetest song, simple and plain._

_The sweetest song, simple and plain._

_Brought me to my knees, in fear and shame._

_A song of forgiveness for those who believe._

_A song of forgiveness for those who believe._

_Sweet salvation, I have been deceived._

_I know that this feeling is too good to last._

_I know that this feeling is too good to last._

_The music fades and the moments past._

_So kick off your high heels, careful where you stand._

_Kick off your high heels, and careful where you stand._

_Don't you move too close, I'm a twisted little man._

_Don't you move too close, I'm a twisted little man._

_-Michael Sheehy - "Twisted Little man"_

Ciudad Acuna, Mexico. 1964

"Run…….."

The word was barely audible, but the expression on Bill's face told the rest of the short, and now suddenly ended story of him and Mariana. She had betrayed him. She'd gone against her word and deceived him. He had no idea why at the moment, but she'd broken his trust, and at the risk of sounding too cliché, his heart.

Needless to say, Bill didn't take too well to the whole idea of being deceived, even at eighteen. He wasn't just angry; he was completely irate. He wasn't the type to take such a thing lightly. To him it was a black and white issue. She'd fucked him over, after he'd tried so hard to be compatible, and now it was time somebody pay the consequences. Those idealistic months of keeping his ferocious temper in check were so easily forgotten now. He was once again the spitting angry young man he'd been in that Austin bar. Nearly two years and four inches in height separated those two Bill's, but he hadn't changed all that much since then. He was still just as vicious and as he'd always been.

He was not only disgusted with Mariana, but with himself as well. How could he have let her take him so easily? How could he have nearly forgotten he was a bastard? If he wasn't' so damn angry at the moment, he would have relished in the thought of regaining back that cherished foresight.

He had to blink a few times just to force himself back into reality; a reality that he didn't really want to face. Nonetheless, that reality was still in front of him; waiting for him to respond to. There was Mariana, still in bed, still frozen in terror; the thin cover sheet now clutched to her chest; as if to hide from him what he'd already seen a hundred times before. And then there was the man of her recent…..affections, scrambling beside her to put on his clothing. He was short, thin, balding, a demure looking asshole, with seemingly no outward charm. Bill's disgust deepened. How she could choose to sleep with such a pathetic weasel was beyond him, and it only further wounded his pride.

Mariana continued to stare back at him; her dark eyes wide and devoid of any real emotion, save for a shallow sense of accomplishment, and a twinge of fear.

Shifting quietly, Bill backed out of the room. He had said he was going to get his gun, and he had no intention of making a liar out of himself now. He was getting his gun.

He turned away from the open door and stalked down the hallway to his own room; wearing an expression of frightening stoicism. He'd made up his mind, and there was no turning back now. He found his gun where he'd last stored it; under his bed in a small worn cedar box. His normally very steady hands shook slightly as he fumbled with the sliding lid and lifted the heavy Colt 45 from the box's confines. The smooth handle of the gun slid into his palm like the handshake of some long lost friend, and he nearly smiled at the familiar sensation. He'd almost forgotten that feeling….along with so much else over the last few months.

Hefting the weapon in his hand, he knew it was fully loaded; just as he'd left it. He'd never actually shot a man before, but at that moment….he had every intent of breaking that fast.

As he returned to the hallway, he could hear Mariana's frenzied voice as she tried to rush the man out of her room. There was some frantic scuffling, and Bill turned just in time to see the man dart out of her room and down the adjoining hallway that led to the back exit. Mariana did not follow him; likely she was hiding. No matter, he'd get to her soon enough; the man was his main concern at the moment.

Knowing the house like the back of his hand, Bill took a shortcut through the kitchen. A few of the loitering prostitutes spotted him, gun and all, as he strolled past with an eerily calm demeanor. They exchanged worried glances, but were too lethargic with their jaded view of life to care all that much. There was no sign of Estiban, whom had just gotten home earlier that morning.

Emerging onto the back porch, Bill found it was easy to spot the fleeing man in the bright mid-morning sunshine. He was sprinting across the abandoned asphalt lot in his socks. His jeans hung oddly on his hips; barely pulled on in the moment of haste. His button up shirt was thrown over his shoulder; a white undershirt adorning his thin torso. Thinking he was safe a good thirty feet from the house, he stupidly took a few precious seconds to try to pull on his boots.

"Fucker," he muttered; squinting against the sunlight as he swung the pistol up one handed to take aim at the man's stooped over form. He didn't need two hands to aim a revolver, and he certainly could hit this asshole dead on from here. Thirty feet away was a ridiculously easy shot. So, he let the man take his time as he peered down the barrel; ensuring an accurate and fatal shot.

Glancing over wide-eyed, the man suddenly caught sight of Bill and immediately abandoned his re-shoeing efforts. Leaving his boots on the ground, he took off….at a full sprint this time.

Smirking, Bill momentarily broke off his aim. Let the fucker run, it would be more of a challenge anyways. He gave the man a few seconds leeway, and then once again brandished the revolver. Steeling himself; he slowly raised the weapon up to eye level; taking his time aiming down the barrel. He had about thirty five feet between he and his target now; still an easy shot.

Forty feet; Bill cocked back the hammer with this thumb. He decided to make a slight adjustment in aim, from back to head.

Fifty-five feet, and he tensed his finger on the trigger. The man's bobbing black haired head was directly lined up on sight now.

He squeezed the trigger.

"Bill! No!"

The shriek belonged to Mariana. And as she did this, she literally threw herself onto his back with her entire weight. He fired of course, but it wasn't before she had completely fouled up his aim. The shot went wild; ending up going over the running man's head by at least a good ten feet.

"Fuck!" Bill snarled; attempting to throw her off his back with a vicious elbow. Mariana remained undaunted, as she attempted to reach over his shoulder to yank the gun from his hand. "Get away from me Mariana," he hissed darkly; eyes flashing. Then without hesitation, he pivoted and backhanded her across the face.

Crying out, she immediately let go of him and took a few stumbling steps backwards; her hands over her reddened cheek. She sat down bluntly on one of the steps to recover.

He gave her a quick fleeting glance, full of nothing but spite, and then spun back to face his rapidly disappearing target. The altercation between him and Mariana had only taken a few seconds, but they were costly ones. The man was a good seventy feet away now; a challenging distance with the older revolver that Bill possessed. Besides, she'd broken his goddamn concentration.

But he didn't have time to ponder the possibly unreachable distance, or his own mental state; instead, he quickly regained his aim, cocked the hammer and fired.

The shot rang out and made a direct route clean through the man's right shoulder; dropping him where he stood. Bill had intended for the shot to go through his heart. He'd missed, just barely…thanks to Mariana. The man was too far, and his focus had been interrupted. He hadn't killed the man after all. It was rather disappointing really.

Then again, that didn't' mean this man was going to ever see the light of day after this point. This thought in mind, Bill lowered his gun, and quickly strode across the lot to where the man lay. He stood over him, face set in a steely expression of indifference. The wounded man was lying on his side; clasping desperately to the bleeding bullet hole in his right shoulder. His white shirt was rapidly soaking to a dark crimson. He was sweating profusely under the hot sun, and the effects of his own physical state. A pool of his blood was slowly creeping out from under his body to stain the hot asphalt. He looked utterly pathetic.

Bill had the inclination to just shoot him in the head right then and there, but some sense of internal check system stopped him. Instead, he took a moment to observe the result of his action. Was the sight of a profusely bleeding human being a beautiful thing? No, not especially. But Bill couldn't deny it made him extremely happy to stand there and see the fruits of his own violent acts.

Reacting to the shadow cast over him, the man turned his pale sweaty face up to Bill, "I……," he gasped through weak dry lips, "….I'm sorry…..I didn't know….I… siento…."

Glowering, Bill frowned. He didn't want to hear any sort of explanation from this man, and he sure as hell wasn't about to stand there and listen to some pathetic driveling. He'd seen enough already.

Instead, he knelt down and yanked the man partially up by the collar of his shirt. There was little resistance, seeing as the man was quickly loosing blood. Besides, he was pretty small, and Bill was drawing upon more than a good dose of rage induced adrenaline.

Bill could easily have asked for some sort of explanation at that point; a 'Why?' or a 'Who are you?' could have sufficed. It probably would have been the rational thing to do. But, he found it easier to just back to what he'd always done, what he'd always known; violence.

Jabbing his gun between his belt and the hem of his jeans, he drew back a bare fist and began to mercilessly pummel the defenseless man's face in. It had always been so easy for Bill to do this; to shut off anything but his own actions. The man tried to call out, but to no avail, his attacker gave him no chance. It was a grisly task. Bill could feel teeth cutting at his knuckles, and warm blood on his skin, but he just kept on doing it; it felt too good to stop. He continued to have to take his aggressions out on somebody, and he beat this man for Mariana, he beat this man for every time he'd been beaten. Payback was a real bitch, and Bill had always seemingly been directly on one end or the other.

The bloodied man made no further protests; either verbally or physically. He was easily on his way to being beaten to death; most likely a fatal skull fracture or brain hemorrhage. But, luckily for him, Mariana had gone inside the house for help shortly after Bill had ruthlessly hit her on the back porch.

Bill was unaware of this as he continued to pummel the man; his blows becoming less passionate and more methodical and calculated. His hands and arms were now covered in blood, while a good smattering stood out on his emotionless face. He seemed fully unaware of nothing but what he was doing; highly concentrated and almost trancelike.

Then, the familiar hand of Estiban came down upon his shoulder and yanked him away with more strength than one would expect from a man well into middle age, ending the moment. The older Hispanic man snagged Bill around to face him by the collar of his shirt. The surprise and fury was evident in Estiban's expression; his dark skin flushed to a deep brown. "What the hell are you doing Bill?" he roared into his adopted son's bloody face, "You're going to kill this man!"

Bill just stared back at him blankly; still completely devoid of any emotion, "Exactly."

Estiban had no immediate reply to that; he just stood there staring back at Bill; his knuckles white against the young man's throat. It was perhaps the first time Estiban realized just how far Bill was willing to go; that the young man he'd treated like a son all these years was in fact more than capable of killing another human being. Now, Estiban knew he was no saint in waiting, but there was no denying the shock in that moment of realization. Of course, in time, he'd learn to not really care all too much about Bill's inclination for murder; for after all, it brought his protégé excessive money and power, but at that moment…..it was truly frightening to witness.

Taking a deep breath, Estiban finally shoved the young man backwards; attempting to put some distance between Bill and the man he'd just shot and nearly beaten to death. "Get out of here…….," he grated, eyes flicking over Bill's bloody attire, "….go….go clean up……..and go…..cool off somewhere." He pointed a finger menacingly, "And put that damn gun away too." Estiban had never wanted Bill to get a gun to begin with. But he'd given up on that effort years ago, and now he was seeing the consequences of it. After a moment, he knelt beside the bloody heap of a man, his flinty eyes still on Bill. "We will speak later," he said with gloomy finality.

Brows knitted, Bill nodded silently. He took a few steps away; still seemingly in the trance of his own making. He glowered at the man he'd nearly killed, as a few of the prostitutes joined Estiban to help. A huddle of brown toned, used up bodies quickly obscured the view.

He then glanced down at his bloody hands, now growing stiff with the thick coating of drying blood that adorned them. He blinked a few times; lost in the deep reddish/brown color.

Yes, he'd go clean up, go cool off somewhere. He had to calm down. He had to snap out of whatever had possessed him. Then he'd talk to Mariana….but first he'd talk to Estiban.

* * *

And talk they certainly did. 

Bill had never seen Estiban so angry with him in all of their years.

It happened the next morning, in the darkly draped living room. Bill knew this inevitable confrontation was coming, even before the events of the day before. Estiban had no doubt found out about what had been going on while he was gone. Likely Mariana had told him everything in the spiteful aftermath of seeing Bill shoot the man she'd been sleeping with. He could easily assume Estiban knew it all.

Bill did not welcome this confrontation with Estiban, but on the other hand, he felt ready to finally take on his father figure face to face. He'd spent years complying with Estiban's orders; bowing his head and allowing himself to fall prey to the man's power tactics. But it was time to end that, it was time to take power for himself. The era of the man ordering the boy around was over with. From then on, he was going to follow nobody but himself; at least……those were his thoughts at the time.

"Where do I even begin?" Estiban stated coolly from his usual reading corner in the living room. A thick and stately looking book had been lowered to reveal his dark be speckled eyes. He made no movement for a few long seconds; simply sitting there in his typical dominating couth manner.

Bill stood stock still at the other end of the living room in pair of jeans and a white undershirt He'd been hoping to avoid the other man for at least a few hours, and had made an attempt to reach the kitchen unnoticed. Apparently Estiban had predicted this maneuver, and had seated himself in the corner to do some early morning reading.

"Begin wherever you wish," Bill answered smartly.

Estiban replied to this by slamming his book down on the small wooden desk in front of him. The gesture made Bill flinch, much against his will. "Don't take that tone with me," Estiban retaliated, "…I'm not in the mood." He sat back, looking fully dangerous, as he produced his usual pack of cigarettes from his jacket packet. He then regarded Bill with a dour frown, as he tapped the edge of the pack on the table, "I leave for three months, giving much responsibly to you, and I come back to find that you've been sleeping with one of your prostitutes." He spoke calmly, which Bill knew was not always a good thing. "You tell this prostitute not to work, out of foolish jealousy I can only assume, and try making up for the loss of revenue out of your own pocket. In turn, you are forced to work the other two girls harder….one of whom seems to have a habit of running away."

"Valerie told you," Bill replied flatly; still standing at the other end of the room.

Estiban lit his cigarette; the match flickering off the lenses of his glasses momentarily, "It doesn't matter who told me, I could easily have figured it out on my own." Snubbing out the match, he then reached out and picked up the large black ledger book that he'd entitled to Bill during his absence. "You're deception is painfully obvious Bill. You may think you're pretty cunning my boy, but you've still got a thing or two to learn about cooking the books.' He tossed the ledger back onto the table. "A blind man could have figured out what you were doing. The whole thing was uneducated and sloppy….the work of an aficionado." He took a confident drag on his cigarette.

Bill's reply to this was silent neutrality. Estiban was baiting him. He knew this game, and he wasn't going to play along; not anymore. The pimp was just waiting for him to crumble, to fall to his knees and admit his mistakes. He wanted Bill to confess just how stupid he'd been, how irresponsible he was, how much he owed him, and how he'd promise never make those mistakes again. Estiban loved that, he'd eat it up; he always had. He'd lived off decades of women doing it in front of him. But Bill was through being treated like one of Estiban's whore's. So, instead he remained quiet to the other man's taunting; his face stoic.

Estiban's look soon grew intense under the weight of Bill's silence, and he eventually slammed his fist down on the table. "You foolish boy!" he roared. "Haven't' I taught you anything? Are you so stupid as to forget what we talked about? You, never, EVER sleep with your whores! Never care for them like that…..it will ruin you! You cannot mix business and love for a woman Bill! Not to mention, do you have so little respect for me, that you both ignore my advice and then proceed to deceive me?" Estiban's calm demeanor had dropped for that familiar fury that Bill remembered so well from the days of his youth. The veins in the older man's temples began to protrude as he hauled himself up to his feet. He viciously jabbed his newly lit cigarette into the ashtray; causing tobacco to spill out from the split paper.

Bill realized, still standing his ground, that for the first time in his life he was no longer afraid of this man. Something had changed. In response to this new feeling, he rose his chin fractionally as Estiban took a few threatening steps towards him.

"You'd better give me a fucking answer to my question boy!" The other man threatened with a finger, "When I ask you something, you reply!"

Bill watched him intensely; undaunted. "Then I reply to you with this Estiban," he began quietly, "Yes I ignored your advice, and yes I deceived you. But it was no less than what you would do to me, given the chance. I owe you nothing, because it was your choice to put me in your debt." His neutral frown turned into a smirk as Estiban's mask of fury flinched. "And don't act like you're surprised, you know just as well as I do the truth there." He leveled a slightly mocking glare at the other man, "I know how you work Estiban. I've been watching and learning from you for years. I'm your pet project after all. I know your little mind tricks and your intimidation tactics. They are mine now and I will use them to my own ends…I suppose I should thank you for that." He folded his arms over his chest, "Face it…. mi padre, you created the monster, you'd best well be prepared to fall into the monster's path."

Estiban reared back, a hand poised to strike the young man, "How dare you…..." he seethed; teeth clenched. Apparently he was too shocked with this revealed truth to fully appreciate the weight of it. Men like Estiban often didn't like to hear such truths, most particularly the news of their loss of power over an individual that they'd put so much work into.

Bill's eyes flashed at this threat. "If you hit me, I will hit you back," he murmured. He'd taken enough of Estiban's blows over the years; much like everything else, to know he was done taking it.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Estiban recoiled; some of the fire taken out of him. A flicker of real fear for his adopted son danced in his eyes, but it was quickly gone; replaced by age old superiority. "Yes, that's right……you're a real brute now Bill…a real… hombre grande! So, now you've gone and shot a man……right outside my house! Idiot! You're lucky he lived through that." He turned and paced back to the other end of the living room; lighting up another cigarette. He spun and waved the lit end at Bill. "Right when I think you've finally got a man's head on your shoulders, you turn around and do something so stupid. You nearly kill this man yesterday. You deceive me, while you……fuck this Mariana-"

At this Bill made a brief attempt to speak, but Estiban cut him off with a sharp motion.

"I see my mistake now," he sneered. "How can you be a pimp when your whores are falling in love with you? You were too nice to them, and you spoiled them."

"Bullshit," Bill snorted, "I was an asshole."

"No you weren't!" Estiban shot back, "You're too young, too inexperienced. You are………too charming."

Bill smirked widely; throwing his hands up in happy defeat, "Not my fault…" He slumped into a nearby chair with that satisfied smirk in place.

"There's more," Estiban interjected; moving onto a different topic as he turned to fully face him. "Julie tells me that………..you fornicated with her."

"What?" Bill immediately stood back up; eyes wide as his cool stoic demeanor began to crack.

Estiban nodded, regarding the glowing end of his cigarette. "She also had the audacity to tell me that…she loves you."

Bill gaped at Estiban for a few long seconds in shock as he processed that lie. Why had she told Estiban that? Mariana he could fess up to, but Julie? That was a lie, and it didn't make any sense to him at all. "I didn't know about Julie," he said earnestly. "God damnit I swear I didn't do anything with that girl Estiban. I had no fucking clue she had some stupid schoolgirl crush on me. I bought her a goddamn record……that was it. She ran away, I went and got her. I certainly don't care for her, let alone…….love her." The word escaped with disgust, as if he wasn't even sure he knew what it meant anymore.

Estiban exhaled a stream of smoke; seemingly not siding with Bill one way or another on that issue. "I am disappointed in you, and I'm disappointed to have to realize that you are not fit to be a pimp. Perhaps…..when you are more mature, but right now….you are too young, I'm putting you back in the Acuna Boys."

His mind reeling with this new information, Bill took a few seconds to reply. "That's just fine with me," he spat. "But don't expect me to come crawling back here in ten years to take over your little empire of whores Estiban, because I won't."

"Then what will you do Bill?" Estiban flashed a smart-ass smile, "Go out….and kill people for a living?"

Bill returned the haughty expression as he sat back down. "Perhaps."

Shaking his head, Estiban seated himself back in his reading chair. He regarded Bill for a moment; seemingly in deep thought. "You are an exceptional young man, I saw to that myself. Don't forget, I took you from the arms of a teenage whore and made you into something beyond your pitiful origins. Despite your foolish decision to not finish your schooling, I have given you wordly knowledge and sophistication beyond your age. I have taught you the things I know." He leaned forward, "You could be a great man Bill…..and here you want to……….waste it, by becoming a……a killer."

Bill leaned forward challengingly. "Whoever said a killer couldn't be a great man?"

"Without me," Estiban hissed; ignoring that reply, "…you would be nothing more than unwanted Caucasian trash begging to have been aborted."

Bill's chin rose fractionally in response to that low insult. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper as he leaned further forward; eyes flashing. "And without me…..Estiban, you would be nothing more a man forever seeking the son he'd never have the capacity to actually sire." His lip twisted. "Ain't we the pair now aren't we?" He suddenly stood up to his full height; a sense of finality in this action. "You can think what you will of me, but I'm not the boy you can push around anymore. I'm done putting up with your bullshit Estiban, and I'm done with this conversation." He turned away and made a hasty exit towards the hallway.

Bill wasn't sure why he'd chosen that moment to end this little 'chat', but he knew for sure he'd heard enough from Estiban. If they'd had anything to 'resolve', that was going to be the extent of it. He was done.

But Estiban seemingly wasn't, and he stood up once again, wielding his large book as if it was a brick meant to knock some sense into his protégé. 'Don't you walk away from me…."

Still making his exit, Bill turned around; brows raised, "Ah, but I am…..look, here I go…..," he turned back around; offering a snide, "Good day Estiban," over his shoulder.

Estiban stood in the middle of the living room; glaring at Bill's disappearing back in both fury and surprise. "For a young man so exceeding full of himself, you certainly make a foolish ass of yourself on a regular basis!" he shouted; the words sounding more comical than he'd intended.

"Have a pleasant day!" Bill shouted back with the utmost sarcasm before he disappeared around the hallway corner.

Turning away viciously, Estiban pushed over his reading table; sending the ashtray and a an array of paperwork scattering across the carpet.

"Shit," he growled; scowling at the spilled contents of his outrage. His outburst was understandable, on that account that he just realized that he'd lost any sort of control over his most prized Acuna Boy. He realized then that he'd lost Bill to the young man's own ambitions. There was no winning him back now.

* * *

Bill hadn't seen Mariana since he'd backhanded her the day before, and it wasn't until that following evening that he felt capable of even trying to talk to her. He was still angry with her, but he'd had time to cool off at that point. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to see her. He wasn't sure what he wanted from her, but a few answers would be a good start. 

According to a few of the prostitutes, she'd apparently holed herself up in one of the back rooms; refusing to come out for any reason. They said she was packing up her things to leave.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Bill approached the faded blue door of the room Mariana was supposedly in. After taking a few moments to collect himself, he pressed his face up against the rough chipped paint of the door. He could just barely hear her moving about in the confines of the room. "Mariana, it's me……," he spoke as calmly as possible, "…let me in…" He tried the door handle, but it was firmly locked.

"No." Her response was quick and blunt.

He forced down a wave of anger, with little success. "Open this goddamn door Mariana. I will kick it open if you don't." He rattled the door handle again. Realizing this was perhaps not the best tactic, he took a deep breath; dropping his voice. "Just…..let me in. I want to see you."

"No, you'll just hurt me," she replied after a long pause. "I don't want you near me. You scare me Bill. You lied to me. You're not what you were pretending to be with me."

"Neither are you," he scoffed before fully checking himself.

"You're a cold…..bastard!" She shot back hotly; her voice obviously close to the door now.

"And you're a betraying whore," he replied with a sneer. "Look," he tried to regain his original intent, "….just let me in……I'm not going to hurt you……"

"I don't believe you," she said venomously. "You're a liar Bill. You're not a good person, you're not a sweet person……and you're not a loving person. I don't' believe you want to marry me or have a baby with me. You did….and said all of that, like all men do and say that."

"That's not true!" He pounded a palm against the door angrily. It wasn't. How dare she accuse him of that. He had to bite back on a myriad of suitable and accurate insults to throw back at her. He didn't want it to be like this. He rested his forehead against the door, taking a few deep breaths. He could still hear her, close to him; a mere few inches away. "Why?" He said finally. "Why did you do it? You know how I felt……about you, and you being with other men………why?"

This time she didn't reply for well over a minute, but he waited patiently; listening to her measured breath.

"Because……I wanted more," she finally responded; in quiet confidence.

"More what?" The answer baffled him, he'd given her everything. "More money? More clothes? More jewelry? More attention? More sex? More………dick? More what?" He pounded on the door again, this time more out of his own frustration than anything.

"I wanted more power."

He stepped a few inches away from the door, as if that information was more than a little threatening. "What?" he finally managed.

"You wouldn't understand Bill." The bitterness was evident in Mariana's voice, even through the door. "You haven't had to live like I have. You're a man. You can take what you want; you can have whatever you want. I have nothing, except for power over men. You took that power away from me, not wanting me to be with any other men. So, I took it back….for myself. I'm a whore…..that's what I always will be. You can't change me. You may think you can, but you can't."

Bill found himself gaping, despite his general distaste for the facial gesture. What she'd just told him was about the last thing he'd expected from her. He'd thought her wandering attentions had been because of some default of his own, but instead……it was Mariana's own thirst for her apparent "power" that had been the cause. And she was right; he had no idea what she meant. Why did she need more power? She had him. He'd give her anything she wanted.

What had happened to her? She'd shown up here so fresh faced and untainted. Had that just been an act? Had she been whoring herself out for years and only told Estiban she was new so he'd be more inclined to employ her? Or, had the jading life of a whore gotten to her so quickly? Likewise, had she been 'acting' with him all along as well? Bill supposed he'd never really know the full truth to any of that.

"I….," he faltered; attempting to respond to her confession, "…….I don't understand."

"Of course you don't Bill. You're a self centered, lying, son of a bitch. And most of all, you're a man. And like all men, you don't take women seriously."

"That's not true, I-"

"Don't try to explain." she cut him off, "You can't."

He blinked. Where in the fuck had all of this come from? Just a few days ago she was madly in love with him. Now, she seemingly hated him…along with all men. Again, he wondered if her 'sweet' act had been just that…..an act. It was then that he strangely realized they'd been having almost the entire conversation in English. "You know Mariana," he said bitterly,"…..your English has gotten so much better…."

"Go away Bill."

"No." He rattled the door handle again for good measure. "Don't leave, I-"

'I said, go away!"

"Listen to me, I-"

"NO! I've listened to you long enough!" She yelled loud enough to make the door boards vibrate "Talk, talk, talk….I've listened to you talk so much. I have to fuck you, just so you will stop talking to me! You see…..that's power. No more talk. I don't want to hear it anymore…….I…..." there was a long pause; "…..I don't love you. So, just….leave me alone…..please."

Subconsciously, he'd been waiting for those words. He had a feeling they were coming, and in the end that was all he needed to hear. That being said, no amount of preparation took away the pain those words caused.

He turned and leaned against the edge of the doorframe, eyes boring into the nearby corner of the hallway as he fought against the urge to lash out. Deciding it was better to get away from her before he did, he finally murmured a soft, "Very well…", and pushed away from the door. He left Mariana to pack up and went stormily into the living room. He didn't know what else to say to her. It was over.

He threw himself onto a vacant chair, glowering at nothing but the dark wall of the evening soaked room. His whole time with Mariana, from the moment he had met her until that final awful conversation kept running through his mind…..like some short and overly acted film. He simply didn't understand what had caused her change in attitude. He could understand her being upset about what he'd done the day before, but she'd barely even acknowledged the fact that he'd nearly killed a man she'd been sleeping with. She didn't seem to care. In fact, she didn't seem to care about anybody but herself. And here he loved her. That was a real shitty deal.

He was angry, but he was starting to get used to being constantly angry as of late. He could feel his pulse thudding against his skull, like some fury induced headache. His hands were beginning to ache from the constant tension in his fingers. He felt mostly in control at the moment, but he was still highly tempted to kick open that door and give Mariana a piece of his mind. Yet, he knew that would only reinforce her 'beliefs' in 'mankind'.

Looking up, he finally took in the rest of the living room. He'd been so self absorbed he hadn't even noticed the group of prostitutes huddled around the small black and white television. They were clinging to each other, dabbing at their eyes and nodding understanding grief to one another.

Frowning, he approached, easily seeing over their hands and observing the television. But it was hard to decipher what exactly was going on through the blurry quick shots of a crowd, seemingly in some sort of panic.

"What's going on?" He asked, turning to the woman on his left; who happened to be Layla, Estiban's 'number one'.

Layla sucked on a slim cigarette; her slightly saggy, heavily painted face severe in the light of the television. "Somebody shot John F. Kennedy," she rasped, "Shot him in the head…..in Texas." She seemed fairly unaffected by this event, unlike the other women.

"Ah," Bill replied, stepping away and returning to his chair mechanically. He thought about it for a moment, and came to the decision that he really didn't give a fuck that somebody had shot JFK. He was far more concerned with himself to care, and that's pretty much how it would always be with him.

Looking across the living room, he spotted his mother hunkered in a chair in the far corner next to the television. He couldn't exactly recall the last time he'd actually seen her. She was currently wrapped up tightly in an afghan and doing something Bill had never once in his life seen her do. She was weeping, like a lost child; her dark eyes gleaming with unabated tears as she watched the television with horrified fascination.

Bill dug his fingers into his kneecaps, utterly disgusted at the sight. Now she was fucking crying? She'd never shed a tear for him, not once……out of happiness, nor pity….not for anything, and now…she was crying over some dead president she'd never even known, while he, her only child, was a mere ten feet from her, emotionally distraught?

This realization caused Bill's barely checked temper to take a massive step up. He sat glaring at her for at least a good five minutes straight. She didn't look at him once, even though he knew she was fully aware of his look.

Finally, not able to stand it anymore, he stood up and went into the kitchen to absent mindedly rummage through the refrigerator. He thought about breaking into his small liquor stash, or perhaps smoking some weed, but for some reason he felt the need to be sober right now. Food would suffice.

He'd only been in the kitchen for about two minutes, when of all people, his mother strode in. No doubt, no accident on her part. To say the two of them had a distant relationship was something of an understatement, and Bill never had gotten used to being around her. It only seemed to get more uncomfortable as he got older. The thought of her being a whore made him uneasy, and she'd always treated him with an odd twinge of sexuality that caused him to want to avoid her as much as possible. The last time he'd been in close physical proximity with her was when she'd taken ill a good five years prior and had suddenly decided she talk to him while using his own bed to recover on. It had been a short conversation to say the least.

He'd loathed her then, and looking at her now, the loathing was only more intense. She watched him with those dark hallow eyes of hers as he smoothly moved to the other side of the kitchen; her narrow face a gaunt mask for a soul who no doubt held enough spite for the two of them. She was a tall woman, and even now approaching six feet, Bill was still just barely taller than her. Her long brown hair was growing dull with age, even though she wasn't really all that close to forty yet. Her normally pale skin was currently saturated in an unhealthy looking tan. She looked tired and wasted to him, just as she always had. Bill had consistently hated the fact that she'd ruined her beauty with her lifestyle.

After a moment of stillness, she moved over to the sink. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she filled her empty glass with water; her bony wrists jutting out noticeably. But she only washed out the glass, filling it with vodka from a bottle in the overhead cabinet.

Bill felt the pulsing of his headache increase. Every time he saw his mother he got angry, and right now, she wasn't helping. Just her presence was enough to irritate him. He quickly made an attempt to leave the kitchen.

She turned around to face him right as he passed by her, "I hear that pretty little whore of yours, that one you were fucking, turned tail on ya boy." She spoke to him in English; drawling in that stupid fake Southern accent of hers. Fuck, how he hated that.

He froze, saying nothing, sending a glare over their two foot distance that could freeze an inferno.

The corner of her thin mouth turned up into a sneer," What happened boy? She find ya a little…..disappointing?"

That was it. He'd been just looking for an excuse to lash out at somebody for the last hour, and mother or not, she'd set him off.

He turned on her; slamming her bodily up against the cheap kitchen cupboards. His forearm instinctually rose to press up against her throat as he held her there. She stared back at him, wide-eyed. But her momentary shock quickly died down to a bemused squint. He realized in a sickening moment, that this was the most physical contact he'd ever had with his mother, most likely since she'd given birth to him. He'd never let her touch him when she'd tried and he certainly had never made no effort to touch her. Now, as he held her up against the cupboards, he could feel her bony frame. She indeed had a physical presence; she was apparently still a human being despite having ice water running in her veins.

"I swear to fucking God," he whispered, "…I'm going to kill you……" He was pretty sure he didn't actually mean that, but it sounded cold and brutal.

"Well now Bill…….," she drawled; looking him full in the face, a sly smile smearing her mouth. She didn't seem to be taking his threat all that seriously, instead she was looking at him with a disturbing amount of admiration. Her eyes flickered from his feet to the top of his head, "Ya ain't a boy no more……I can see it now……ya look like yer father……a real fuc-"

"Stop it!" He shouted, giving her a sharp shove, "Jesus Christ! Stop talking to me like that…….," he swallowed his disgust, "….don't ever talk to me like that again…and don't ever mention my father again……or…I will fucking kill you……"

Her lips slowly turned up into a well practiced smirk. "Ya wouldn't kill yer own mother….now would ya…..?"

"Don't underestimate me….." he hissed venomously; quickly reaching out and snatching up a knife from the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. It was a purely impulsive move.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Estiban's voice rang out solidly. The pimp was standing in the kitchen entrance; a leather belt folded up in one hand, a whore on either side of him like a pair of underdressed bodyguards. He glowered at the young man with pure distaste. "How dare you take your anger out on your own mother……that's low….even for you."

Bill turned a blazing dark eye over his shoulder. "I'm looking for new lows at the moment……"

"Then, I have one for you……" Estiban stepped forward and held the belt out.

Bill paused; gaze sliding back over to his mother.

"Put that knife away, and take your hands off your poor mother," Estiban growled. "Now….."

Complying, Bill quickly tossed the knife into the sink, moving away from his mother. She took a moment to rub her reddened neck, but overall she seemed pretty unfazed that her son had just held her at knifepoint; in fact, if anything she looked amused.

But Bill wasn't paying attention to her anymore; his focus was on Estiban, and the leather belt in his hand.

"Julie." The older man stated. "She was yours. It's your responsibility to punish her for her attempts to run off, as well as her supposed blatant lies " He continued to hold the belt out to the younger man; dark eyes shining like two chips of obsidian. "You want to be a man Bill…….then be a man and do it. She's in her room." It was obvious that Estiban was still pretty frosty over their conversation the day before, that and he'd just caught Bill threatening his own mother's life. Was Estiban offering him a chance to redeem himself? Then again, did he even want to redeem himself at this point?

No matter. With a dark scowl, Bill snatched the belt from Estiban's hand. He didn't give his mother another look, and quickly stalked out of the kitchen, down the hallway towards what had been the room that Julie and Mariana had been sharing. He was growing to truly hate the room.

Between Mariana and his mother, he was pretty pissed off at this point; he had to hurt somebody. If it couldn't be Mariana or even his own mother, than it could just as easily be Julie. Somebody had to be the pitfall for his aggressions. Truthfully, he didn't' want that person to be Julie, so he was going to do his best to stay calm and get this over with as quickly as possible. Maybe it would help.

Opening the door, he stood in the doorframe; lanky form framed in silhouette against the fading light as he paused there momentarily. The belt was clenched in his right hand.

Julie was huddled in the far corner; wearing her usual faded dress, her knees drawn up to her chest, long wavy hair covering her upper torso. As he entered, it was easy to see, even in the dark room, her bright blue eyes shine through her curtain of hair. She stirred. "Bill….."

Boots clomping on the floorboards, he paused in the middle of the room; pinning her down with a chilly gaze. "Why did you lie to Estiban about us?" He was going to get at least one truth tonight, from somebody. "And don't' tell me it wasn't, because we both know you lied."

She shifted; rocking backwards a little. "I dunno………maybe……maybe because….I wanted it ta be true….about us…"

He took a few more steps inside and shut the door behind him. "That's stupid and you know it."

"I know……," she muttered. "I'm real sorry Bill, 'bout causin' so much trouble and all."

He offered no response to her apology, but simply stood there looking at her coolly.

Julie's gaze flicked to the belt clenched in his hand. She licked her lips nervously. "What's that for?"

"I think you know," he replied quietly. Looking at her now, the thought of what he had to do became even more daunting. He didn't want to do this, yet he knew he had to. Life was full of shitty decisions; it was no use balking in their wake. Besides, he'd nearly beaten a man with his bare fists the day before without a second thought; he could surely hit a young woman with a belt.

"Turn around," he ordered her. He didn't want to hit her front side, and he didn't want to look at her face.

After a brief moment's hesitation, she silently complied; turning herself around…still sitting on the ground. Like a girl who was no stranger to this sort of thing, she covered the back of her head with her hands and bunched up her shoulders; protecting her neck.

That was just fine with him, and as he raised the belt up over his opposite shoulder, he made sure his hand was completely covering the metal buckle. Belt poised, he said flatly, "I'm real sorry Julie."

Then, taking in a sharp breath, he quickly brought the belt down hard across her back. He briefly shut his eyes; trying to think of specific others in her place. She made no noise, save for a small muffled sound.

The first one was the hardest, after that it was just a matter of mechanically getting through the rest. He didn't go easy on her though, and by the time he finished the twentieth, he could hear distinct sniffles underneath her curtain of hair.

Tossing the belt aside with disgust, he knelt beside her; slightly out of breath. But he didn't make any move to touch her. "Do you understand the consequences of your actions now?" He did his best to sound removed from the situation.

She took a minute or two to wipe at her tear stained face, nor relying to his question.

"Julie," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "….you have to understand. If you do something like that again, it will be a hell of allot worse."

Finally, she nodded. She turned and through her tears, she smiled at him; that dreamy smile of hers. "I don't care. You're still a sweetheart ta me Bill…….."

And for some reason, that set him off.

"What?" His look turned sharp.

Julie brushed her hair out of her face; still smiling. "I said….I don't care, yer still always a sweetheart Bill…ta me ya are…"

The hand he'd rested comfortingly on her arm, now turned brutal; his fingers digging in. "Goddamn you Julie!" He yanked her towards him. What was it about her reaction that made him so mad? Many things really: she was so earnest about life; still so wide eyed and optimistic. He couldn't stand to see her like that; not when he desperately wanted to be like that. It was more than that though. It was her lighthearted reaction to the beating he found so difficult to do. How dare she brush him off like that? He hated that she liked him. He hated that she found him to be 'sweet'. He hated that no matter how hard he tried, she still thought he was something he was not.

He had to break her of that.

With a growl of frustration he reared back and struck her across the face; still, he couldn't' bring himself to close his hand as he did so. "You're wrong about that," he growled. "Very wrong…."

Julie made a small noise as she was struck; apparently surprised at his sudden turn on her. She immediately clasped at her face; shrinking away from him.

But for Bill that wasn't' enough to get his point across, and a twisted idea sparked in his anger ridden mind. Moving over to her, he crawled on top of her; forcibly holding her shoulders down, knees pinning her thighs.

She fought him, but to little avail. He was far bigger and stronger than she was. Horrible realization sparked in her eyes as she quickly lost any sort of physical advantage of the situation. "What are you doing Bill? Stop it….."

He pressed down on her; face close to hers. "Is this what you wanted? Hrm?"

She struggled against him, turning a check against his smirking mouth.

"Ah, I see…..." he continued saucily. He then wrenched one of her hands free; yanking it down towards his belt buckle. He jammed her fingers underneath it, "….is that it then Julie? Huh?" He pressed her hand down further. "Is that it? Is that what you wanted?"

"No, stop….stop Bill! Please….STOP…."

In a moment of outstanding strength, she pulled her hand free from his grasp and smacked him hard across the face. He took it without as much as a flinch. Then, suddenly he let go and moved completely off of her.

Curling up into a ball, she pressed her face against the floor; fighting against a new and much more violent wave of tears. She was shaking.

He crouched over her fallen form; sadistically satisfied she'd gotten the point of that. "Do you understand now?" he seethed. "I'm not a sweetheart! I'm not good guy! I'm a fucking bastard who just beat the shit out of you and then forced myself on you. That's what I am Julie! It hurts doesn't it? I bet it does! That's what I do, I hurt people! I turn on people! I fuck people up!" He reached out and took hold of her round shoulders; shaking her. His voice rose to a shout as he berated her. "Do you understand me? Life is not about…..pretty ribbons and songs about holding hands! Life is about getting fucked over; life is about being a whore, about being a bastard. Life is knowing you have only yourself to depend on and trust in; that those you think you trust could easily beat you, rape you, and kill you. Life is knowing that your father was a fucking drunk and your mother is a cold rotting corpse of a whore. Life will fuck you up the ass if you don't fuck it first! You have to wake the hell up Julie! You're a goddamn fucking whore! You're nothing! You have to face reality, or reality is going to leave you for dead! You have to care for only yourself!" His voice suddenly cracked, and he forced himself to take in a shaky breath.

He wanted to keep yelling at her, but he couldn't find it in him to continue. He suddenly felt empty of words. Instead, he moved away from her and collapsed against the nearby wall; elbows resting on his knees, fingers digging into his scalp.

Julie lay there unmoving for sometime, save for momentary spasms in her shoulders as she rather unsuccessfully held back bouts of miserable tears. She looked so sad; so broken.

He watched her; his face softening. "Julie….I…..." he began, but he quickly trailed off.

Encouraged by this small ounce of sympathy, she crawled towards him and leaned her head against his shoulder. But, this action only caused Bill's momentarily lapse in fury to quickly fade.

"Get the fuck away from me," he spat and shoved her away. "Don't ever fucking look at me touch me again," he added harshly as she moved away from him and into the shadowy dark corner. 'Go back to whatever shithole you came from. You're better off there….."

She didn't make another sound after that. It was the last thing he ever said to her.

Overcome with a sudden urge to become sick, he stood up and quickly left the gloomy room; slamming the door behind him. Thankfully, nobody was hogging the bathroom when he reached it, and he locked himself inside.

Leaning over the sink, stared back at his own reflection; shoulders hunched over in rigid tension. He looked like a manic; long hair wild, lean face chiseled with anger. A pair of hard brown eyes stared back at him; pupils large and ominously black; so much so, he felt as if he could almost fall into his own intense glare.

What had he just done?

Bill would go on to do some truly horrible things in his life, but what he just did would always feel especially vile to him. Whenever he thought about it, it always left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a deep sense that he could have handled it far better than he'd done. But he was young and his ferocious temper had yet to be checked. He had no sense of control and he'd acted purely on his own emotion and physicality. What had just happened was the result of that combination.

Julie was perhaps the brightest soul he'd known, and he'd just ruthlessly squelched out that light. He'd broken the spirit of a apple eyed girl, because she'd liked him….nothing more really. He also realized he'd done it because he wasn't able to do it to Mariana. Julie had paid for the sins of another, far more devious girl. She'd basically been an innocent, and now….she was tainted. Wasn't it Julio's Aunt Blanca who'd accused him of being, 'a corruptor' after her nephew's death? Perhaps she'd been right after all.

But he didn't hit women for pleasure, did he? He was not a rapist, or a woman hater was he? Mariana had told him he'd never understand her, because he was a man. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't' understand, but her certainly didn't hate women. Yet, he'd done nothing short of doing just that for the past two days……

Yesterday, he'd come so close to killing a man; closer than he ever had. It had felt good, but he was disappointed that he'd failed. Yet he was not disappointed he'd failed to further harm that poor girl, and that had felt anything but good. It was an odd arrangement of feelings, and at the moment he wasn't sure which feeling went where.

Viciously twisting the handle creaky handle on the sink, he scooped up a handful of cold water and threw it on his face; relishing the welcome cool sensation on his flushed skin. He'd deal with this just as he'd dealt with everything else; with a good dose of stoicism, a smart-ass attitude, his healthy ego and perhaps a shot or two of whiskey.

* * *

The next day, Mariana left. 

Estiban had let her go, due to the unorthodox circumstances. She'd not said where she was going to anybody, but it was rumored she was going to take the bus along the border route; apparently in search of further "employment". Once a whore, always a whore, Bill contemplated with bitter bemusement.

By noon of that same day, it appeared Julie had done the same. At least, she'd run away, this time for good. Nobody could find her out walking the town. And Bill spent a better part of the afternoon driving up and down the highway; to no avail. She seemingly hadn't taken the bus anywhere. It could only be assumed she'd hitchhiked out of town sometime in the early morning hours; to where…nobody knew.

Bill occupied himself the rest of the day, by milling around in a hollow, mostly aimless, silence. He eventually rounded up all of the things Mariana had left behind. Naturally they consisted mainly of things he'd bought her or made for her during those months. He ritualistically dumped them all in the large garbage can along the side of the house. Hesitating, he angrily sifted through the jewelry, the clothing, the handmade comb he'd made for her. He picked up the wooden comb, holding it up to inspect the uneven teeth he'd carved. He'd worked hours making this for her, and it still looked like shit; fittingly ironic really.

"Whore," he hissed, and suddenly threw the comb up against the siding of the house. It bounced off and landed somewhere in the nearby shrubbery.

Goddamnit, he loved her……and she just….left, left him like…..like the whore she was. Scowling, he rounded the house and went into her room to see if there was anything else to be disposed of. He didn't want a single reminder of her around. It had to be a clean sweep.

The room was empty. The beds were stripped. The whole scene looked even more depressing than that day he, Julie and Mariana had first stepped into it. Mariana's side was completely bare, but on Julie's bed one item sat alone. Bill approached the bed. It was The Beatles record he'd bought her; the corners slightly dog-eared with love. He picked it up slowly and stared blankly at the cover for a few long seconds.

He then broke it over his knee.

If he hadn't ended up some filthy rich in the years to come, he might have looked back on that moment and cringed at the eventual value of the record he'd just destroyed in a moment of juvenile drama.

Wanting nothing more than to never be in that room again, he wondered onto the back porch to smoke. A strange and potent emotional wave was washing over him, and he thought perhaps the immediate inhalation of nicotine would help.

While standing there, he noticed young Samuel making his way across the vacant lot; his skinny dark arms jammed into the pockets of his dirty jean shorts.

The boy's face split into a wide smile when he spotted Bill on the porch. He stopped a few feet away; kicking at the dusty ground. "Hey Bill, could we work on my punches today?"

"No, not today Samuel," Bill replied blankly. "I'm not……….in the mood."

Normally he rather enjoyed his little training sessions with Samuel. But today, he didn't feel right. And while he might be in the mood to punch something, he didn't' want Samuel around him right now. He'd already accosted three women in the last seventy-two hours, he wasn't sure it was out of his system. He didn't want a kid to be next.

"Another time, alright?" he suggested; tossing his partially empty pack of cigarettes over to the boy.

"Si…alright," Samuel nodded; happily snatching the pack of cigarettes out of the air.

"I'll see you later amigo," Bill turned away quickly; snubbing out his cigarette and going inside before Samuel could get a reply in. Bill realized he didn't want to be around anybody right now. He felt too hollow; too out of sorts to be with anybody but himself. He wasn't used to feeling upset over all that much; mad certainly, but upset…..no. Yet, he couldn't' deny he was upset, and he was doing his best to deal with it.

But there was only so much a person could take. Everybody has their breaking point, and Bill finally reached his that night. It had been building up since the moment he'd caught Mariana those three days prior, and it had only been getting worse since. He'd done his best to hold it back, but he couldn't do it anymore.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually cried. It must have been…..years, when he was far younger. And it most likely had resulted from some sort of physical pain. He simply did not cry over emotional matters, not since he'd seen Estiban cut those women as a small child; that had been it for emotional tear shedding. He never had seemed to have possessed enough of the appropriate emotion running through him to commit to the act. But at that moment, there, in the privacy of his own bedroom, he broke down….momentarily.

He sat there on the edge of his bed; face buried in his hands. He felt both simultaneously sick and empty. The anger came and went with the moment; but the hollow pit in his stomach refused to go away. It was the first time in the last three days he'd had a truly still moment to reflect. It all had happened so fast.

He'd loved Mariana, that much could not be denied. How could he have been so fucking stupid? What the hell had he been thinking? But that was it…..he hadn't been. He'd been acting purely on his own libido and some misplaced sense of connection to a girl he barely even knew. He'd even asked her to marry him. The mere thought of that only caused him to feel sicker on account of his own stupidity. He'd let her push him around and drag him around like some puppy dog eyed moron. He didn't even like most of the things Mariana did. They'd had little in common actually. And when he really thought about it, she was really quite shallow and lacking in any sort of real personality at all. But that was it; personality was not what he had been thinking about at the moment. Perhaps Estiban had been right after all; sex was the most important factor in life. He'd acted on lust alone, and he'd ended up getting betrayed by it. And of course there was their last odd conversation through the door. He was having a hard time connecting that Mariana to the one he'd been with for those months. They seemed like two different people, and he still partially refused to believe she'd been hiding that deviously cunning, man hating, side of her personality the whole time. But the worst part was….that no matter how much he realized his mistake, and no matter how much he loathed those things about her, he still loved her. He couldn't help it. Love was a real pain in the ass like that.

And then of course there was Julie. Perhaps if he had been a little older and wiser, he would have realized that he'd been truly charmed by Julie's personality. But he had not been physically attracted to her, and that's all that seemingly mattered to him. Yet, it was too late for her, he'd broken the spirit of that poor girl; he'd seen to that. And now, she'd run off…..likely hitchhiking somewhere on the highway. The feelings attached to Julie where, in some ways, worse than those of Mariana. If anything, he'd remember her allot longer.

Complicated interactions aside, he felt like complete shit.

He pulled his hands away and pressed his index fingers against his closed eyes. He had to gain back some emotional control of himself. He needn't care about any of that. He was beyond it. It wasn't his fault Julie had brought his wrath down upon her, and while Mariana may have escaped unscathed for the moment, she certainly would get what she deserved.

No. He had no room for this sullen, weak lamenting. He was cruel, he was a cold bastard. And none of that left room to be emotional; especially over something as petty as a momentarily wounded heart. Girls came and went, but he always had himself to rely upon.

With one last brushing of the fingertips; he wiped away the last remnants of tangible emotion. It would be the last time he'd shed a tear for anyone or anything for a long, long time.

* * *

Within the week, Bill was back to running with the Acuna Boys, just like he had before Mariana had shown up But this time around, he was even more violent and out of control then before. Every bit of sophistication and class that he possessed was temporarily thrown out the window. Despite being highly intelligent, he seemed to have this tendency to want to self destruct when in emotional turmoil; it was a defense mechanism and a lifelong habit. 

He was unnecessarily cruel to all those around him, even his fellow Acuna Boys. Most nights he was usually fucked up out of his mind. He was rarely at home; either crashing at Carlos' place or out with some random girl. He slept with a number o girls in a short span of time, just because he could; out of nothing but pure spite. Two weeks into being back 'on the job' he put his hand through a car window because the man inside efused to get out of the vehicle and talk to him. That injury resulted in him nearly having to be driven to the one and only real medical clinic in town; but he flat out refused. Later that same week, he set fire to a small textile store on the edge of town; burning it completely down. All because the old woman who ran it had borrowed some money from Estiban over five years ago, and still owed him half. In short, he was nasty, vile, immature, and crude; a brute, the type who is he wasn't thinking with his dick, he was thinking with his fists. He was being just what Estiban didn't want him to be. He was fully aware of how stupid he was being, but at that point he simply did not care.

He thought about Mariana often, and found that despite all of his bitterness towards her, he still held a deep affection for her. He missed her. He wanted to see her again. So whenever he was traveling around to the nearby towns, he always kept an eye out for her….just in case. He swore to himself, that if he ever saw her again, he'd talk to her….rationally. They'd work it out, somehow. He'd try to see things from her point of view, and then perhaps…..it could work. He of course was being stupid and youthfully idealistic, but it seemed fate would indeed present him the chance to see Mariana again.

It occurred about four months after she'd left Acuna. Bill, Carlos, Juan and a couple of the other Acuna Boys had spent the day in the nearby town of Chihuahua. They'd gone there to talk to a former associate of Estiban's, who apparently had some documents he wanted to be taken back to Acuna so the pimp could look them over. Business concluded, the group of Acuna Boys made the unanimous decision to find the nearest bar as soon as possible. Successfully trashed within an hour, they then decided to go see a movie. Bill vaguely remembered the film was _How The West Was Won._ But about halfway through the picture they ended up getting kicked out of the theatre. Apparently they were being just a little too belligerent for the other movie goers tastes. It was a pity really; Bill always wanted to know how the West had been won.

Wandering the streets, they decided it was best to find another bar; seeing as it wasn't even midnight yet. They were downtown, making their way past rows of darkened closed businesses. A group of women; very obviously prostitutes, were loitering around out in front of a sagging boarded up restaurant.

One of them, a short plump woman with a head full of black hair, called out to the group of men; offering an assortment of vice for just a handful of Paso's.

Too drunk to care, or really even listen, they continued to move past the women. Exchanging a few laughs with Carlos on the subject of whoring, Bill glanced over his shoulder. He gave the group of prostitutes one last snide look.

It was then that he spotted Mariana.

If he hadn't memorized her face so well, he might never have recognized her in the dim light. She was leaning up against the building; slightly removed from the rest of the girls. She looked very little like the beautiful girl he'd known. Instead, she looked……awful; like a walking corpse…..a true whore. There were dark rings under her hollow eyes; which reminded him of his own mother's in their utter lack of zeal for life. Her skin was dull; her lips dry and tight. She used to wear a nice touch of makeup, but that was all gone. She'd lost weight. In place of one of her former bright sun dresses, she was now wearing a shapeless colorless piece of thin fabric. Her long feet were covered in a pair of dirty cracked pumps. Her posture was languid, like an old forgotten doll propped up in the dusty corner. She was wasted, lifeless….so unlike what he remembered. It was as if she'd aged ten years in only four months.

Bill had distinctly vowed that she would get what she deserved. And at that moment, that had been a comforting thought. But, seeing her now, like this, he felt nothing but pity for her. He wanted to take her away from that spot and make it all better. He wanted things to be the way they were. He wanted her to be beautiful and happy again.

Staring at her, he wandered away from Carlos and the others to approach the group of prostitutes. He was righteously drunk, and that only heightened the deep sense of emotion he was suddenly feeling. Ignoring the other women around her, he approached Mariana. He had no hostile intentions; he really just wanted to talk to her.

"Bill, what the hell are you doing?" Carlos called out loudly from behind him. "Those are some real dirty type of whores. We can get better, if that's what you want."

But Bill wasn't' even listening. He was completely focused on Mariana. He stopped a few feet from where she was vacantly standing; her glazed over look fixated on a streetlamp on the opposite side of the street.

"Mariana……," he began carefully. "I……." He thought about reaching out to her, but decided against it.

Her eyes slowly slid around to him; nothing short of creepy. There was a long moment where she looked back at him with absolutely no recollection. But then, something sparked in those dark orbs, and she offered a weak smile.

"Bill……"

He smiled back, taking a step towards her. "Jesus, Mariana…I-"

"You……..FUCK!" She suddenly lashed out at him with both sets of dirty fingernails, like some feral cat turning on a trusted hand.

Leaping back, Bill managed only to acquire a minor scrape on his cheek. But she might as well have shot him through the heart. He glared back her; his pride wounded. Once again, she'd taken him completely off guard with her viciousness and he wasn't entirely sure how to react.

She leered back at him with pure hatred. "Get the fuck away from me……usted ano de mierda…." she growled; possessing more fury than any woman Bill had ever seen at that point in his life. Was this the 'woman power' she'd left him for? Was she really that angry with him, or was she just fucked up on something? Whatever it was, he had to admit, she was quite frightening.

But he stood his ground. He wasn't going to walk away from her that easily, not after finding her so randomly like this. It was too good to be true. Wavering a little, he tired to focus back on her. "Just….calm down…….let's-"

This time, she just spat at him; literally.

There were a number of things that set Bill off, especially in those days, and getting spat on was one of them. It was a vile and disgusting gesture; especially from a woman. An angry flush crept up his neck as he took a long moment to wipe a hand over his wet face.

Throwing her head back, Mariana laughed.

At that moment Bill decided that women indeed could be purely evil. Being humiliated and then laughed at…..just two other things that set him off. He fixed her with a glare; at least the best he could muster being drunk. He desperately did not want to hit her. He'd hit enough women as of late; he had no intention to continue the trend. But she'd pushed him too far. He'd approached her with completely good intentions, and she'd done nothing but throw it back in his face. He could easily just walk away, or he could just as easily cause her pain.

"Afraid to hit me Bill?" Mariana goaded him on with a wolf-ish sneer as if she'd read his mind. "Doesn't seem like you to stand there and take it…..I thought you liked that sort of thing…hitting women…"

"I don't!" He shouted back; taking a stumbling step towards her. Then, without a second thought, he hit her in the face; making an instant liar out of himself. It wasn't' much of a strike though; halfhearted and thrown in an intoxicated state. But it did feel good, he had to admit that. She'd caused him a hell of allot of pain, it was nice to at least return a little of it.

She didn't seem to care all that much though, and she simply turned her wasted face back towards him; boldly daring him to do it again.

But when he drew his fist back for a second strike, he suddenly found himself under attack by the four other women who'd been standing there watching. He'd been so preoccupied with Mariana, he'd completely forgotten about the other prostitutes. Before he knew it, he was the focus of all five of their conjoined hostilities.

Whoever said women could not fight had never scrapped with a group of irate prostitutes.

Seeing that Bill was currently under attack, Carlos and the other four Acuna Boys quickly ran over to help. They'd been standing around deciding weather to ditch Bill for the nearest bar, when he'd suddenly been engulfed in a flurry of feminine fists and heels. They weren't even sure exactly what had happened, but they knew they had to protect their comrade from the group of raging women.

Bill, the center of the attack; drunk, dizzy, shocked, and a little confused; wasn't sure if he should really go full out on these women or just simply try and protect himself. But, after a few seconds of receiving a number of extremely potent punches to the face and gut, he decided he had to go full out if wanted to live. Spinning around he grabbed one woman and shoved her at Mariana.

Meanwhile, Carlos and the other men were doing their best to be simultaneously gentlemanly yet tough as they tried to help Bill out of his predicament. It was like some twisted version of _West Side Story_; except instead of 'The Jets' and 'The Sharks', it was 'The Whores' and 'The Acuna Boys.' If Bill hadn't been so angry and drunk, he probably would have found the situation pretty damn funny.

If Bill or any of the other Acuna Boys had been expecting the women to back off, they were quite wrong. The women stood their ground; fighting viciously, cheap, and without restraint.

Eventually, a good two minutes into the scuffle, a truce of sorts was achieved when Carlos picked up the short round prostitute and dumped her into a nearby dumpster. He sat down on the lid; refusing to let her out until the others stopped. He was a big guy, and no amount of screaming and ranting on the woman's part was going to open the lid.

The tactic worked, and the women soon backed off. Juan, who had a tall woman in a head lock, reluctantly let her go. Mariana had a bloody nose, and she stumbled away to slump back up against the wall she'd started out on; glaring. Bill had just been kicked in the crotch by another of the women, and fought to get up before she came at him again. Grimacing he changed his tactic and tried to approach Mariana once more; still undaunted under the influence of alcohol. She remained back against the wall; staring out vacantly. Was she looking at him? He lunged out towards her.

Carlos, who'd finally let the short prostitute out of the dumpster, grabbed him firmly by the arm. "Come on Bill, let's go….forget it. She's just a whore…not worth your time."

"Oh…she's much more than a whore," he grated; wiping a hand over his blood smeared face. He fought against Carlos for freedom; tearing his shirt with the effort. He had to talk to her; he had to tell her how he felt. They had to work things out.

But Carlos didn't let him go. And he was in too much pain and far too dizzy to put up much more of a fight against the bigger man. "Fuck…..let go of me you asshole," he muttered; still struggling in vain.

"No," Carlos replied harshly, "Face it Bill….she's a lost cause man." He looked his friend full in the face. "I think she pretty much hates you. You're drunk. She doesn't care. Let's go, let's get out of here. We don't want to get into any more fights with whores tonight."

After that, Bill fell silent, and he let Carlos lead him away. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at Mariana. She defiantly wasn't looking at him now, and after a moment she turned and disappeared around the corner of the restaurant with an expression of indifference. He realized then that he'd been stupid to even try the first time. She did hate him. Why did he even waste his time trying? It had been a terrible way to handle it anyways. And, to no surprise, his effort had ended in violence. Everything with him always seemed to end in violence; even love.

That night, Bill learned a few valuable lessons, a couple of them being: never try to make amends while drunk, it's foolish to try and work things out with a woman who left you, don't' provoke a bitter prostitute, and never….ever….underestimate the power of women in numbers.

They eventually made it back to the car. Bill didn't remember much of the walk, except for the part where he puked his guts out in front of burrito stand.

He spent the car ride back to Acuna, viciously insulting Carlos from the back seat and taking shots of straight tequila to kill the pain of what had just happened. Juan and the other guys found the whole thing highly humorous and even concocted an amazingly crude and badly rhymed song to mark the occasion. They sang it, in rounds, until Bill yelled at them to stop; threatening bodily harm if they continued a second longer. By the time they reached Acuna, Bill had passed out and had to be forcibly roused when they reached Estiban's place. He barely made it out of the car and inside the house without breaking something.

When he finally stumbled into the private sanctity his room, his torn shirt was covered in enough sweat, blood and vomit to make him immediately remove it and throw it away. Shirtless, he then laid down on the floor; partially because he wasn't sure he could make the extra ten steps to his bed, and partially because the hard floorboards were a welcome discomfort. The room was spinning at a nauseating rate and he kept trying to focus on one little discolored spot in the corner of the ceiling to keep himself from getting sick again.

It was lying there that a thought that had been nagging at him finally emerged in full clarity. He wasn't sure why he thought of it at that moment. Maybe it was the haze of alcohol, or maybe it was some strange clarity in the storm of his own violence. But it was something that had always been with him, it was only now that he could form the thought.

Was he, in fact, crazy?

Bill would never in his life be professionally filed or diagnosed in any sort of official capacity as a sociopath or as an individual prone to psychotic spells. But then again, 'crazy' is certainly relative. He was certainly not normal, at least that much could be said. Being young and angry was one thing, but being young and so violently angry to the capacity of what he was, was another thing. And this all went beyond anything to do with Mariana, or Julie, or even Estiban. This was something deeper; something more unsettling. It had to do more with how he'd felt while beating that man he'd shot. He couldn't quite place it, but it was so close to the surface that its nearness was driving him crazy.

He had no clear answer to any of that, except that he knew he couldn't go on like this; the ups and downs, the inconsistent spells of violence, the arguments with Estiban, the whores, his mother, the binge drinking, even the Acuna Boys. He was only eighteen and he'd done and seen more than most people did and saw in a lifetime. The world offered a banquet to those who were willing to take it. But instead of shying away from it, this early exposure made him want more; not more of what he'd already done, but something better; something…….more sophisticated.

There were demons in his head he simply could not satisfy on such a low scale; he had to find other ways to silence them. He knew he was destined for something bigger and it did not lie is spending the rest of his useful years running with the Acuna Boys. It had already been well established that he was not going to be succeed Estiban in his role as "señor de la casa", he'd seen to that with his own stupid actions. All that remained in Acuna was the life of a low end thug. He didn't' want to end up like these guys in the Acuna Boys. This was too small time for him.

Unlike the answer to his own sanity, the answer to this problem was clear; yet directly tied to the first. It had been there for sometime; burning in the back of his mind, hovering on the corner of his vision like so many things he'd come to realize; he just hadn't really seen it until now.

He had to get out of Acuna.

And it was more than that. He simply just had to get away on a base level. He was old enough. It was about time he move on. Nothing remained for him in Acuna; not unless he wanted to continue down the path of the Acuna Boys, and his opinion on that was already well established. Estiban knew how he felt, and Bill was beyond caring about what others thought anyways. It was time to leave for good.

That decision being made, he felt a little better. He managed to haul himself to his feet and make it to the comfort of his own bed. Yes, he'd start his planning tomorrow…..after the inevitable hell of a hangover that is.

* * *

"You're leaving." 

Estiban's voice broke Bill out of his haze of packing. The older man's slightly faltered English words were delivered in a statement, not a question.

Glancing up momentarily, Bill went back to his task.' Yes," he replied firmly; folding up a shirt and pushing it inside his large duffel bag. He had no idea when he actually was leaving yet, but the physical act of packing had a satisfying finality to it. He felt just as sure about his decision as he had the night before, and he was glad it had not just been some pipe dream. If anything, he felt more determined to leave now that he was sober.

Estiban took a step into the room and leaned on the doorframe. He jabbed a thin black cigarette holder in-between his teeth; the smoldering top of a smoking butt perched at the end. Bill had noticed that Estiban had suddenly switched to these holders in the past month. He was never actually sure why.

"Where to?" the pimp quarried.

Still absorbed in his packing, Bill shrugged nonchalantly, "California….maybe….I don't' know…..I just need to leave."

"I understand." The other man nodded solemnly.

Bill looked up sharply "Do you really?" He snorted, "I find that hard to believe…." He shoved another shirt into the duffel bag with a scowl.

Estiban's eyes hooded over, "Hrm, why don't we forget about things past? Let's start anew…..like men, yes?" Ever since their conversation after Estiban's less than jovial return those four months prior things had been pretty edgy between the two of them.

Bill remained silent; moving onto to roll up a pair of jeans.

"I'm not a man who gives apologies," Estiban continued, "But….I have to think, that neither are you……"

Pausing; Bill thought about that for a second and came to the conclusion that Estiban was right about that. Likewise, he seemingly wasn't looking for an apology, and that was a refreshing change.

Bill looked up at the other man, some of his former hostility melting away. "No, I don't…"

"Good," Estiban retorted; looking pleased. ", than we have no apologies to make to another. Without the need for such a thing, we can now be equals, yes?"

Bill's lip twisted; finding that amusing. Estiban had never treated him quite as an equal, even when he was falsely trying to. But after a moment of looking at him, he realized that the older man was not joking this time, he was serious.

Estiban arched his brows, seeing the understanding on Bill's face. "Yes see….I was angry at first. But, I think now, I am happy to know that you are my equal. I am…..glad"

Bill stood up straight. That was, perhaps, the most genuine compliment Estiban had ever given him. He was pretty much past those moments of parental induced childish glre, but he felt a flicker of that old feeling for a brief moment….and it was nice.

Stepping forward, Estiban extended one of his weathered brown hands; dark eyes twinkling. "From now on…. los hombres como igualan……men as equals."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Bill clasped the man's hand in his own younger one; a wisp of a smile gracing his face. "Men as equals…."

* * *

In order to really leave Acuna, Bill needed a car; that much was obvious. But, the Morris Minor he'd been using was technically still Estiban's. Besides, Bill was pretty sure it wouldn't even make it to San Diego in that state it was in. 

No, it was time he get a car of his own; something more along his tastes.

After about a week of looking, he somewhat unintentionally found just what he was looking for. Acuna always had a good amount of drifters coming in and out of town, most of them involved in some illegal activity or another. Many of these drifters, whom were usually men, often ended up at Estiban's place for a little action before they moved along to the next town. Bill was quite used to these strangers milling around the house, and had sometimes even swapped some good stories and contraband with them.

One evening, while smoking on the back porch, Bill was joined by another man. He was roughly middle aged, bearded, slightly haggard and obviously in a state of a panic. After some idle talk, the man revealed to Bill that he was on his way through Acuna and was looking to sell his car for some desperately needed cash, seeing as he'd sold everything else and had just spent his last bit of cash on a hooker. It seemed he had a debt to pay off that would have….unappealing consequences if not paid in full by the end of the week. Bill was pretty indifferent about the idea until the man informed him the car was a 1963 Ford Thunderbird Roadster, cherry red with a hardtop. It needed some small fixing up, but it was in good enough condition to drive.

Now that certainly held more appeal than the Morris Minor. Bill had spent most of his driving years wheeling around in his various friends pick up trucks, or the dumpy old Minor. A Thunderbird was a gem compared to those. He quickly told the man to wait as he disappeared into his room to retrieve his savings.

At the very least, Bill's unsuccessful endeavor into the world of pimping had earned him enough money to easily fulfill what the man was asking for the car. He paid the man entirely in cash, and the next morning he stood in front of the house surveying his first real car. He would have a lifetime passion for cars, and he knew it for sure the moment he sat behind the wheel of his very own car. The engine sounded like shit and the carburetor needed a replacement in the near future, but he could easily make 85 in ten seconds without the doors falling off……plus it looked incredibly cool. It was a nothing short of a muscle car, and the needed tune up would give him something to occupy himself with until he left; something that didn't involve violence.

He spent almost two weeks straight working on it; deciding to forgo all of his errands with the Acuna Boys to hide under a car, back flat on the pavement, covered in grease and sweating in the hot sun. He discovered the odd of appeal of this task, and finally understood its masculine draw.

"Is this car a 'she'?"

Bill didn't even have to crawl out from under the car to know Carlos when he heard him. Apparently his large friend had gotten curious over his absence from the usual regimen of extorting and binge drinking and had come to check in on him after a good week into his work.

"Of course she is," he replied with a sneer; picking up a screwdriver from the pile of tools at his side.

"Better under a car than a woman, eh?" Carlos was never short on a little wit.

Bill's bitter replying snort was unmistakable, even underneath the car. "Precisely." And that certainly was true. At the moment, cars were far sweeter than women.

"Shit Bill, you have some big ugly feet……," Carlos seated himself in front of the chrome bumper; avoiding Bill's protruding legs and bare feet.

"Better than a big ugly face mi amigo," came Bill's usual cruel brand of retort as he set down the screwdriver with a loud clank.

Typically ignoring that, Carlos peered underneath the bumper. "Need any help?"

"Mrm."

Carlos fiddled with a nearby socket wrench, taking that as a yes. "Estiban told me you're leaving?"

"That's right."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure….somewhere in California probably…."

"When?"

Scowling down at his friend, Bill reached out and snatched the socket wrench from Carlos's big hand. "As soon as you stop pestering me with fucking stupid questions and I can finish what I'm trying to do."

Carlos fell silent; watching idly as Bill rolled over onto his side, and in turn nearly hit his head on a low pipe.

"You aren't going to get into fights with any prostitutes in California are you?" The big man grinned, "I hear those LA whores can easily kick a man's ass."

"You're really fucking funny Carlos," Bill scowled. "Hand me that rag over there…."

Happy to help, Carlos handed him a nearby grease stained rag. "Do you think you'll ever come back, to visit I mean?"

"I don't know…….maybe."

Carlos nodded silent understanding. If Bill hadn't been so intent on his car mechanics he might have noticed the brief touch of sadness in the other mans face. Then again, if he had, he most likely wouldn't have cared; or worse….mocked his friend for being stupidly sentimental.

The two of them spent the remainder of the afternoon working on the car. Well, Bill worked; Carlos did what he could….which was mostly to create conversation. Afterwards, they drank a few beers and played pool at their usual bar. Carlos won all three games, naturally; putting Bill out two hundred fifty dollars.

Then, they parted ways with a brief and fittingly masculine farewell. Perhaps they'd see one another again in the years to come, but they both knew that was probably unlikely. Many friendships, like relationships, never seemed to last all that long in Acuna, Mexico.

Besides, the life Bill was about to enter into had little room for such niceties.

* * *

Finally, three weeks after his decision to leave Acuna, Bill was ready to do just that. He'd fixed up the Thunderbird. It now ran like a real beast; sweet and smooth up until about 90 and then it began to loose it, but that was good enough to get him to California. 

The few loose ends around town he had left to tie up had already been done so. No apologies or amends were given to those in Acuna whom he'd threatened and intimidated over the years. They were simply the few among the many who would serve to pave the path for Bill's rise to power as one of the world's biggest bastards and deadliest men in the world. Acuna had served its purpose for him. Whenever he returned in the years to come, he always felt detached to the town. It would still always be 'home' of course, but the day he left, he severed any real connection to it.

He'd said his farewell to Carlos the week before. The rest of the Acuna Boys he could care less about. Then he had made his rounds to the prostitutes; embracing those few he'd actually gotten to know over the years of his childhood…..the ones that were still around that is. A couple of them gave him humble parting gifts. He didn't see his mother anywhere, but that didn't' matter much…seeing as he had no real inclination to see her before he left anyways. He saw Samuel earlier in the day, and gave him the Japanese self defense book he'd cherished. He'd already read it three times, it was now the boy's turn to learn. He made the typical hollow promise of coming back to visit.

And then, there was just Estiban left.

Standing behind the Thunderbird, Bill carefully placed a rolled up afghan inside the trunk. The brightly colored afghan had been given to him by one of the whores; wrapped inside were three pistols. He'd packed all that he could into the car, which was a rather small amount of his possessions. He'd simply gotten rid of the rest. This gun toting afghan was the last thing he had left to make room for.

It was well past the morning hours; and he'd been hoping to get at least to San Diego by the evening. He was running late…..he hated running late; even when he didn't know exactly where the hell he was going.

"It will…..not be….the same around here without you Bill," Estiban quipped in English; approaching the car at a smooth pace. He was dressed in one of his characteristic kaki suits; cigarillo in-between his teeth, shoes shined to a blinding gleam. The growing crop of silver in his mustache stood out against the bright midday sun.

"You mean a hell of allot less interesting," Bill replied with a fond squint in the other man's direction.

"Well yes," Estiban flashed a toothy smile as he waved the cigarillo,"…that and less expensive…."

"Hah," Bill offered dryly as he shut the trunk.

Empty handed now and fully set to go; he then turned and faced his first father figure. There was a long moment of awkward silence as they looked at one another. Neither of them were much for sentimentality and moments like this seemed to beg for it.

"Do you have anything else to do….before you go?" The older man asked suddenly.

"No." Bill had no desire to go back into the house.

"Well, then stop standing there….," Estiban scowled, "….you look stupid doing that…..and embrace the man who had to put up with you for nearly fifteen years. I think I deserve that at the very least."

'Yes sir." Bill replied with mock seriousness and stepped forward into the man's open arms. The two shared a brief but meaningful embrace within the bounds of male acceptance.

"You watch yourself boy," the pimp offered quietly. Slapping the younger man's back, he then took advantage of the brief close proximity to yank on Bill's long hair. "Gah! And cut this off!"

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that," Bill smirked as he pulled away. Offering him a brief but genuine smile, he turned and climbed into the driver's side of the Thunderbird. Slamming the door, he leaned out the open window and shook the hand that Estiban was offering.

"Smokes for the road," Estiban slipped him a pack of cigarettes. "And a little extra," he pulled out a neatly rolled wad of American twenty dollar bills from his jacket pocket.

Bill jammed the keys in the ignition with a shake of his head, "No, I don't need it. I have enough money."

"Take it…..you foolish boy," the older man frowned. "You have no idea what it's like to live out on your own. In a few weeks you will be begging for this."

Looking resigned, Bill took the money; stuffing it into his jeans pocket. "Very well…." He started the car, but looked back to Estiban, "If you see my mother……"

The pimp squinted; inhaling on the cigarillo, "I'll tell her."

Bill nodded silently, and threw the car into gear. He flashed the older man a smile. "Adiós……"

Estiban returned the gesture, "Adiós……"

Kicking up a good deal of pavement, Bill pulled away from that house of prostitution for good. Leaving Acuna by downtown route, he barely gave the rundown storefronts, dingy bars, pick up trucks and abandoned lots more than a glance. They were the backdrop of his childhood, but he was no longer a child. He had already moved on in his mind. He was focused on one destination and one destination only at the moment: the Mexico/California border.

* * *

So, what of those who had played a part in Bill's life thus far? For the most part their futures weren't all that bright. 

Raul, Julio's older and far angrier brother, continued to live in Acuna. His vendetta against Bill was far from acquitted. It seemed he and Bill would meet again, further down the road, with a far more bloody and violent result than any of their previous encounters. After all, the next time Raul would see Bill, the younger man would be a full fledged killer.

Martin and Paulo, Bill's childhood friends both completely disappeared. Bill could only assume that they both ended up first rate low lives in some Mexican city slum.

Alanzo, the quiet and intelligent friend of Bill's youth moved to Spain in his early 20's. He became a history professor in Madrid, happily married with two children.

Aunt Blanca never said another word to Bill. A few years after leaving, he saw her walking downtown during one of his brief visits to Acuna. She'd gained more weight and offered him nothing more than a fierce glare and a sharp Catholic crossing. He heard later that she'd had a stroke in the mid 70's and ended up in a Catholic convalescent home in Mexico City; only to disappear into dusty obscurity and most likely a slow lonely death.

Carlos moved away from Acuna a couple years after Bill did. He ended up marrying a Caucasian woman in Los Angeles. But, like many Hispanics in L.A., his life was a tough and hard working one. He worked three jobs: security at Dodger Stadium during the evenings, loading grocery trucks in the early morning hours, and apartment landscaping on the weekends. He had three children with his wife and eventually had a heart attack sometime in his 40's. But neither Bill nor Estiban could ever find out for sure if he'd survived it or not.

After moving to the U.S. and volunteering to join the Army in 1969, Juan ended up accidentally shooting himself in the face while on night patrol in Vietnam. Upon hearing the news, Bill was pleased to know he'd called it all along.

Bill never saw Mariana again. He heard a rumor, years later…from Estiban, that she'd survived the life of a whore and made it back to Mexico City to help her mother out at the family owned laundry mat. It was also said that she'd eventually gotten married to a man thirty years older than her. Bill really could have cared less at that point.

After disappearing from Estiban's for good, Julie's fate was completely unknown. Bill could only hope that she'd ended up back home in Idaho, safe. And that she'd found some nice farm boy to marry and settle down with. Then again, Julie had not been known for doing the smartest things.

Valerie contracted HIV many years later and finally fell prone to full blown AIDS in the mid 80's. She and Bill never spoke or saw one another again.

Valerie's son, Samuel continued to grow up in Acuna. He would meet Bill again as a grown man and have not forgotten what the older man had taught him in those formidable years. In fact, Samuel would become one of Bill's first employees when he finally decided to move up from assassin to one who employed assassins.

Bill's mother continued to whore into her 40's. She would of course have another son, Budd….quite unexpectedly in just a few years. She eventually was allowed to leave the employment of Estiban and 'retire' to Baja Mexico in the late 70's. She stayed close to Estiban throughout those years, but saw little of her sons. She seemed neither overly proud nor overly distraught to know of their career choices. She'd always been rather indifferent about life and the taking of it. She outlived both of them; well into her elderly years; known to be colder and more bitter than ever.

Estiban would continue his successful career of pimping until he was nearly 80 years old. Despite he and Bill's early differences, they would eventually come to see eye to eye, as corrupted men of the world. Estiban would also continue to play a part in Bill's life. His biggest contribution wouldn't take place for another good 40 years, when he finally got to meet face to face with the woman that Bill so desperately loved, and so ruthlessly betrayed; a tall stunning blonde known as Beatrix Kiddo.

* * *

But those were the things to come. At the moment, all that Bill was concerned with was getting past the Mexican/California border station in a car containing both unregistered guns and illegal drugs. 

"Fuckers," he growled under his breath; scowling at the group brown uniformed men bustling around the small booth. There were three lines in service, and two cars in front of him in the line he was currently in. One of them was a long Ford station wagon containing what seemed like an entire circus worth of loud fat kids, three yapping dogs and a squabbling couple. The other was a wide Buick driven by a waspy elderly woman in a hat she could have only bought in Tijuana. She was currently arguing with the border patrol officers over an offending bag of oranges as if her very life depended on keeping them.

Bill hung his head out his car window; glaring death upon the whole scene.

'Welcome to The United States of America: Home Of Endless Opportunity and God Given Freedom!' a large sign just beyond the checkpoint read in big bold letters. He wasn't' sure if that was supposed to be funny or not.

Annoying American's aside, he still had to figure out how to get past the goddamn patrol station. They were going to search his car; that much was inevitable. His appearance alone would justify that.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he quickly devised a weak plan. He glanced over at the lane on his left; no good; it was stopped up with what appeared to be an extensive car search of a suspicious looking painted van. But the lane to his right was ideal. There was only one car there, and it seemed the occupant was being given the 'OK' to go on through.

Bill waited for the exact right moment. The guard rail lifted and the car, a rusty Mustang, slowly pulled through. Giving his rear view a brief check, he threw the Thunderbird into reverse and made such a smooth and ridiculously tight lane change that it would make even the most raging New York cabbie green with envy.

There was brief confusion amongst the state employees. Then, one of the border patrol officers, apparently catching onto what Bill was doing, foolishly tried to run over and wave him down. Riding the bumper of the Mustang, Bill gave the man nothing more than a glance before swiping him in the gut with his driver's side mirror. The guard rail came sliding back down, but it was too late. It simply nicked the bumper of the Thunderbird; leaving it free to squeal off onto the freeway.

More than pleased with himself, Bill smirked at the reflection of the quickly disappearing checkpoint in his mirror. He then flipped on the radio as he consciously ignored the first speed limit sign he saw. He dug the pack of cigarettes Estiban had given him out of his pocket and opened it with two hands; briefly leaving nothing for the steering wheel as the car picked up more speed.

And thus, that was how Bill left his childhood home and entered the United States to start a new life; going well over twenty miles over the legal speed limit, a smart-ass expression on his young face, a blazing cigarette hanging out of his smirking mouth, and The Animals "House of the Rising Sun" blaring on his car radio.

He really had no clue what he was about to enter in to. But whatever it was, he was prepared to take it on with his own unique brand of hard knocks and learned lessons. He figured the world had to have a place for a bastard like him, somewhere. It begged the question: while Bill may have been ready for the rest of the world, was the rest of the world ready for Bill?

He had made it to San Diego by the late afternoon; much thanks to his blatant ignoring of the speed limit. But after spending a few days in the city, he quickly decided it best to move on. He had no desire to live there, he'd been there before. It was too close to 'home', in both locale and feel.

His next stop was Los Angeles; "The City of Angels", more like "The City of Fucking Assholes" he promptly decided. Whoever said L.A. had charm must have been high. It was full of the most insane assortment of schmoozers, wannabe upper class twits, junkies, and awful drivers. The city itself was sprawling and uglier than most Mexican cities. It's only bright spot being that it had the highest concentration of blonde women than any other place he'd ever been. He stayed a week there, including his nineteenth birthday; which he spent the majority of pissed off that he still couldn't legally drink in the United States.

After L.A., he drove up the coast, stopping at a couple beach towns along the way. This eventually brought him to San Francisco. Some ignorant prick type had once told him that 'only fags and chinks live in San Francisco'. But after a day there he realized that statement was both grossly inaccurate and disgustingly ignorant. He loved it. It was unlike any city he'd ever seen. It was fairly small in area, yet big in population. He couldn't quite decide if the rows of packed in houses on the hills were fascinating or oddly disturbing. The smell of salty sea air was a refreshing change from the arid breeze he was used to. And the mix of cultures there was unlike anything he'd ever seen. He briefly felt like a kid again for the first few days; driving his car up and down the hills, long haired head hanging out his open window as he squinted at the myriad of scenery. He came to the conclusion that sea lions were the ugliest animals he'd ever seen, and that Alcatraz was the design of near genius.

It was nearing the year 1965 and little did Bill know that a cultural and social whirlwind was brimming on the horizon in San Francisco. Terms such as: 'hippies', 'anti-war rallies' and 'LSD' were still fairly unknown to him as he settled into the City by the Bay. But, as he had a tendency to do, there was no doubt that he'd find the stuff of trouble before it found him. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Bill rented out a cheap hotel room near the Italian district; a full month's rent up front. It wasn't glamorous, but it was the best option at the moment. After about a week into living in San Francisco he realized that the money he'd brought with him, including Estiban's donation, wasn't likely going to last him through the next month. He either had to earn some money, live on the street, or go back to Acuna. The last two options had little to no appeal to him. He had to earn money. He'd never had a real job, in the sense of a job that didn't' involve some sort of illegal activity, and even he still didn't have any intention of getting a legit job. He knew he had enough criminal smarts to get some cash picking pockets, short change scheming, or shoplifting. But he preferred a new variety of illegal activity. 

The opportunity to earn some money arose one day while he was sitting at a corner diner, leafing through the paper. He'd been to the diner a few times and liked the quiet atmosphere of the place. The usual waiter, a balding older man, put his check on the table and noted, "No offence, but I dunno why yer hangin' out in this part of town kid, alls ya got here are a bunch of old Italians and the Chinese goin' back and forth ta Chinatown with all their bags n' chickens and whatnot. Why don't ya go up to Height Street. That's where yer type is."

Bill narrowed his eyes at the man over the rim of the paper. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? What exactly was 'his type'? But he simply nodded and slipped five dollars onto the table.

Later that day, his curiosity got the better of him and he drove to Height Street, following the directions the hotel clerk had given him, What he found was perhaps one of the strangest groupings of subcultures that he'd yet to ever see. Height Street was a long straight avenue of shops; most of them retail. But it wasn't so much the commercial aspect of it that intrigued him, but the people. Most of them were young, near his age. They, for the most part, didn't' seem to be doing much of anything. Allot were standing around, talking, or sitting together on the sidewalk. He saw one kid playing a guitar. They were dressed in an odd mix of bright colored clothing and virtually nothing. There was allot of long hair, jewelry and iconography that was virtually alien to him. It was quite the sight. And while the hippie movement was yet in full swing, he was witnessing its early presentation.

He parked the Thunderbird and spent the rest of the day milling around the street; observing. He quickly realized what these kids wanted, they wanted drugs. And just like that, the answer to his money troubles was blatantly obvious.

He spent the next week slowly divining out his private stock of weed, in very small baggies of course, to the tie-dye wearing, multi-beaded, long haired hippies on Height Street. They might have looked poor, but Bill had an inclining that more of them were middle class suburban kids 'slumming it', than real participators in the chosen lifestyle. They had money, and Bill charged per bag what he'd easily paid half for in Mexico. They also seemed to take to him right away. He fit in, at least appearance-wise, and was quickly accepted as "one of them". Of course, Bill was no hippie; he never would be. He found their peace loving attitude irritating and utterly stupid. But their free love concept was far more inviting; and there were a number of good looking girls around seemingly perfectly willing to participate in that belief. In short time, he already had a nice handful of female friends; following the blazing weed trail of the charming newcomer to the scene.

And thus, as Bill had been an irresponsible pimp for a short time, he was also temporarily a rather low level drug dealer. But, the little stint into pot peddling earned him enough money to subsist for the next few months within a rather comfortable means. Plus, he'd found an accepting crowd of young people; who were too dazed by drugs and their own idealistic views of the world to realize he was a vicious cunning snake hiding in the "grass", just waiting for his opportunity.

Then, a month after moving to San Francisco he made a second and much more long lasting discovery.

He'd been leafing through the morning paper, which he'd gracefully stolen off the table of a restroom bound businessman at a nearby diner earlier that morning. He had no real idea of what he wanted to do next, or what he was really looking for. The weed dealing was fine, but it wasn't something he wanted to do for too long. He wanted something better, or at the very least, more challenging. At that point in time he didn't possess the proper knowledge to seek out those whom he wanted to be found by. He was nothing more than a speck of a young ruffian to the large dark world of the underground. Besides, there wasn't exactly any formulaic way for one to find their way into that world; even if in Bill's case they were subconsciously looking for it.

So, instead he idly scanned through various classifieds, redundant articles and advertisements; cigarette hanging from his mouth and a stale bagel in his hand. He was just about to shove the paper aside when one small ad on the back page caught his eye.

He tore the ad out of the paper and put it in his wallet. There was seemingly nothing all that special about it. It was just a small plug for a martial arts school in Chinatown, but it contained two intriguing words that he'd never seen before; two words that would change his life forever:

Kung fu.

**END OF CHAPTER ONE**.

Author's Note: Well, that's the end of the first chapter. I really appreciate all of those who took the time to read this story so far. (I know the chapters are pretty long) And a big 'thank you' to those who have left reviews. These chapters take me sometime to write with damn 'real life' going on, and are not always easy to compile. I have tried very hard to do my research when in doubt. I tend to be a stickler for details, which is both a blessing and a curse I think.  I really want to strive for a sense of realism, as well as the ideal of everything having some sort of point. Yet, at the same time try to keep the semi-outrageous quality of the QT world in there. Even if it may seem frivolous or inappropriate at the time, it will eventually hopefully tie together and make some sense in the end. But, I want you to know that your reviews, along with my love for writing this, continue to keep me inspired. I really hope you will continue to stick with me through the rest of the story; I have lots of ideas for what's to come and I'm having allot of fun writing it!

Chapter Two will continue right on in this same story entry.


	7. Chap 2 Part 1: My Brother,My Executioner

Author's Notes- It is very likely I still may raise the rating of this story to "M" (mature) at some point in this story. I just feel that the subject matter may be more appropriate for a higher rating as things begin to move away from the coming of age young man stuff into the darker killer type of stuff. I guess I'll just see how it goes. :)

As always, a big thank you to everyone who has left reviews thus far! (That would be reviews, not juvenile flaming.) I really appreciate you taking the time to read these long (and getting longer) chapters and letting me know what you think. I don't plan on letting this story remain unfinished, it just takes sometime for me to write each chapter. So, I hope you keep reading!

**SPECIAL NOTE: I am going to be posting this chapter in THREE PARTS because it is so long. I apologize if this will end up being confusing to anybody, but I think it will work out best for both those reading, as well as me not going insane writing. In the end it should all flow together as one chapter, so for now just think of it as three mini chaps to make up one. :)  
**

**Chapter 2**

**Cruel Intentions**

**Part 1**

**My Brother, My Executioner **

"_I've seen the future baby; it is murder."_ _– Leonard Cohen – The Future_

San Francisco, CA – 1966

Probably one the last places somebody would expect a very soon-to-be contract killer was in the middle of a fully raging peace rally.

But then again, part of the killer's game was to remain in the shadows of the obscure and the unexpected; to be amidst those least suspecting of their true darker nature. And that's exactly what Bill was hoping for, because he was just about five minutes away from killing the man standing directly in front of him in cold blood.

Naturally he wasn't going to shoot the man right here, in the middle of a goddamn peace rally. He was pretty sure the massed group of peace loving hippies currently surrounding him would not take too well to seeing one of their supposed 'own' blow the back of a man's head off at close range; call it intuition.

Besides, in Bill's quickly adapting mind, murder was not ideally a widely viewed spectacle, but something more subversive and worthy of only those who truly deserved the honor of that bloody observation. Not to mention, there were wary cops everywhere; mulling around the outskirts of the rally, thumbs tucked in their low slung belts, dark sunglasses glinting impersonally off the setting sun…doing their best to look intimidating. All of them were just waiting for the first sign of real 'trouble'. And if they'd happily turn a high pressure hose on a sign waving flower child, they sure as hell wouldn't have a problem turning a hose on a gun toting one.

No, it was best to play this cool, and Bill was waiting for just the right opportunity to make his move. It was his 'first time' after all, and he wasn't going to fuck it up. He was desperately trying to get beyond the point of fucking things up nowadays. It was time to be close to flawless as he possibly could.

Well, so far, so good.

The setting was perfect. It was a warm summer evening in downtown San Francisco….almost to a cliché; as if you were just waiting for some long haired pretty girl with flowers in her hair and a guitar under her arm to wave at you from a passing cable car. The street, Market, had been closed off for the rally, and just about every anti-war supporter from the entire city had shown up to make themselves heard to those pigs up on Capital Hill.

People were pissed off about the ongoing war in Vietnam. Personally, Bill didn't give a shit about the whole thing. People died all the time; sometimes in the hundreds, sometimes in the thousands. Hell, Jesus Christ had been only one person, and look how much of a big deal people still made about that whole thing!

No, Vietnam didn't make much of a difference to Bill. 'Life is a real fucking bitch, and then you die', Julio had once told him at the sagely age of sixteen. Well, Julio had never been much of a master linguist. And now Julio was dead himself, while Bill continued to survive in the harsh world that he both had known so well. Bill had every intention of surviving, until somebody better crossed his path that is. He could only hope that was far down the line, because the real fun of living for him seemed to be just beginning.

Anyways, Vietnam had recently become a big deal to just about everybody in San Francisco, and for the matter of keeping up appearances Bill had to play along for the time being. The coinciding of his first real 'assignment' and this rally had been pure ironic fate, because the havoc and confusion that the latter event caused was ideal for what needed to be done. And as luck would have it, his target, the man now stupidly standing in front of him, had shown up. Bill had guessed the man would of course, although his target was surely no hippie himself. The irony of it all was just all too good. Here they were, two well hidden imposters hiding in an anti-violence protest that, for one of them, was going end in nothing but cold murder.

Bill did have a feeling that the man knew he was here. Having a contract out on you was often something you simply didn't ignore, but he was also pretty sure the man had no idea just how physically close his soon to be killer really was. There was at least three thousand people amassed on the street, and everybody was packed in pretty tightly together. It was loud and it was hectic; the maze of mingling bodies and bouncing signs only heightened the sense of confusion.

Despite the commotion, Bill was completely focused on the task at hand. Not even the pretty redheaded girl standing next to him; the one whose ample cleavage nearly fell out of her loose blouse every time she waved her arms around could distract him right now. A joint had been sneakily passed his way and he'd regretfully passed it along. He needed to be as clear headed as possible for this; again….no more room for fuck ups.

His target, a tall slim man with thick glasses, curtly jet black hair and a large European nose, stood silently where he was. He was wearing a ratty tweed jacket and a pair of ill-fitting army fatigue slacks. Every now and then he'd cup his hands over his mouth and shout some half hearted anti-war slogan towards the still empty pulpit, but mostly he was a statue amidst the swirling bodies. To Bill he stood out like a sore thumb.

The man's name was Max Goldschmidt. Beyond that, Bill knew very little about him. He'd been given a physical description of the target, and had been told he'd likely show up for this rally. As far as why this man had been marked for assassination, Bill was uninformed. But, as he'd quickly come to learn, it was often not the assassin's business to know what the target's 'crime' was. No doubt old Max here had pissed off somebody important in the wrong place, and it bad apparently been enough to see that he no longer did it again. Bill did get the feeling this guy was a small time nuisance; a fly amongst spiders, but he really couldn't have expected to be sent to kill somebody really big on his first assignment….no matter how good he thought he was.

So like it or not, Max was his target and he was going to make sure Max didn't see what was coming to him until it was too late. Anytime Max glanced over his shoulder, Bill would move his own handheld sign strategically in front of his face. The sign had been a last minute idea, and one he was mightily glad he'd gone with. A mere hour before he'd been up in his rented hotel room, rapidly scrawling in bold black letters across the side of a disassembled milk carton: "L.B. Johnson is a murderer! End the war!" Now, he waved the sign with so much irony that he had a hard time keeping the smirk off of his face.

The sign was just the topping on the cake of course. Nobody would ever have pegged Bill for a cold blooded killer at that moment. He was just another tall young man, with a couple days worth of stubble on his cheeks and long hair that had been bleached out to a light brown by months in the California summer sun. He had on a pair of ragged loafers, baggy brown trousers, held up by a trendy wide leather belt and big copper buckle. This ensemble was topped of with a loud psychedelic paisley shirt and a patchwork jacket two sizes too big for him. The hippie attire was all his of course, but the jacket was on loan from an acquaintance, and was very necessary to conceal the 38 caliber Ruger pistol stuffed into the back of his belt.

He'd thought about using his old Colt 45, but decided that while that gun held much sentimental value as it being his first gun, it wasn't always reliable. Plus, he couldn't fit it with a silencer, something which the newer Ruger allowed him to do. It was a simple choice of functionality over personal attachment.

Max Goldschmidt was starting to turn into a real bore, and just when Bill was sure the man was simply going to stand there unmoving for hours on end, he made a move. It was more than a move; it was more like a bold beeline for the back of the crowd. For a brief second, Bill was sure that Max had spotted him as he'd pivoted around, but the man's face was a blank slate amidst a condition of automatic motion. Something had set him off though, and it would be stupid to not take it as an advantage.

Bill let Max get a head start of a couple feet, and then he started pushing through the crowd in pursuit. It wasn't an easy task, seeing as how packed in everybody was. Bill received a few glares and a: "Hey man, watch it" before he managed to get through the worst of it. He handed his anti-war sign off to a kid who didn't' even look old enough to vote; all the while sure not to take his attention off the back of his target.

Max stuffed his hands in his pockets and quickly strolled down the sidewalk; weaving through the number of people mingling around the area. He then turned the corner and headed further into the streets of downtown. Bill followed casually. He didn't spot any cops around, it seemed their attention was primarily directed at the rally.

If Max was heading somewhere in particular, it was a pretty damn good act. The man seemed to be wondering aimlessly; almost as if he was lost. He'd stop at random intervals to look into shop windows or to read a street sign. Bill found himself growing impatient of this little game. He had to force himself to remain relaxed in his movements and casual in expression. At times, Max almost seemed to be leading him on consciously, and Bill's growing suspicion of the whole situation was growing. He couldn't afford to lose this target. It was time to put an end to this.

Soon enough, Max made another of his 'random' stops; this time at an unmanned flower stand, and that was when Bill made his move. He quickly strolled up behind his target; his left hand meandering around to the gun at his back.

Max seemed absorbed in examining a festive looking arrangement of flowers, but made no move when Bill threw his right arm chummily around his shoulders; in fact he seemed to almost have been expecting it.

Bill glanced sidelong at the other man; his armed left hand snaking around to press the butt of the Ruger into Max's ribs through the bulk of his jacket. "I wouldn't buy these flowers if I were you brother," he said calmly; noting Max's almost expectant expression with some distain. "There's a much better selection a few streets over. Why don't I show you?"

Max nodded soberly; his long face darkening. At closer inspection, he indeed looked like a man who was tired of running. He was wary. It made Bill wonder just how long Max had been avoiding his fate with the higher ups. Well, it didn't matter, because that debt was about to be paid in full.

Bill, his arm still draped around Max's lean shoulders, led him away from the flower stand and up a nearby narrow street. He made sure the Ruger never left its threatening location, even if Max seemed resigned to come along willingly.

They continued up the street; Bill keeping a wary eye on the few passers by; a group of older men more concerned with watching the pavement than much else. The street twisted down into a tapered alleyway littered with trash and empty boxes. It was a dead end, perfect. Bill took note of the street number and a flickering neon sign on the side a nearby building that read "O'Reilly's Irish Pub – Billiards N' Brew." He would need to relay the location to the 'concerned party' soon enough.

Once they'd walked a good fifty feet down the dirty, box strewn alley, Bill stopped; giving Max a sharp nudge with the Ruger.

"Turn around."

Max turned without question and faced the end of the alleyway, which just happened to be spanned with a very unappealing rusty chain link fence. It was a damn shitty place to die, Bill had to admit that. But that wasn't about to change his mind about any of this.

He secured the silencer onto the top of the Ruger's narrow barrel with a quick turn of the wrist; not bothering to note the vague quivering in Max's frame.

Offering a quick glance around at the concrete buildings on both sides, Bill then turned back to Max and raised the gun to the back of the man's head, executioner style. The other man said nothing, didn't even make a sound. He seemed resigned to go with as much dignity as possible. Part of Bill was annoyed; wanted the man to beg for his life….or at the very least say something pathetic. But it seemed that at least this time; humility would defy Bill's arrogance.

Forefinger depressing the trigger, Bill hesitated for only a moment…..but it was an extremely loaded moment. In that instant he came to a few realizations, almost simultaneously.

First: He felt nothing. He had no physical reaction to what he was about to do. No speeding up of his heart; no sweating, no rolling of his stomach; nothing a normal person should feel on the verge of homicide Psychologically he felt absolutely not a goddamn thing either; except for a sense of satisfaction and attraction to the sum of money he was seconds away from earning.

Secondly: He was very glad that he hadn't ended up killing that man who had been with Mariana nearly two years ago. It would have been stupid, for his first kill to be out of such stupid adolescent driven passion. No, he would not be one to kill out of passion. Killing should be about nothing so heated, but instead about the lure of cold money. The fault of passion was one of weakness. He'd been weak with Mariana, but he was well past that now, and he would not let that same kind of weakness penetrate his shell again.

Thirdly: He didn't care one god damn bit about who this man was, or what he had or had not been selling, paying, fucking, delivering or saying to deserve such a fate. All that he knew and cared about was how much this fucker's demise would be worth. It was that simple. He simply didn't care about anything else right now.

Fourthly: And most importantly, he knew right then and there, that this was what he'd been born to do. By killing this man, he would in a sense, put himself above all others, others who could not commit murder…..and that was a lot of people. He could kill. God could kill. He'd stepped over the boundaries of human born fate, and played his own hand in the life of another. It was an instant relief to know one's fate, no matter how dark.

And then, in that split second before he pulled the trigger he could almost see a younger reflection of himself through the diamonds of chain link in the fence. It was that short and skinny fourteen year old kid, holding a gun to Old Man Tanner's face. It was nearly a reverse vision of what he'd had those six years ago. He couldn't pull the trigger back then, but now….no longer a child; the roundness of a boy's face, and the fragileness of a young disposition long gone, he sure as hell could.

He blinked and just as before, the vision was gone. His gaze slid over to the barrel of the Ruger, and the back of Max's head dead in its sight.

There was absolutely nothing left to think about now, so Bill simply pulled the trigger.

The silencer helped to dull the sound of the pistol, but the shot still produced a reasonably good echo in the confines of the narrow street. The bullet cut a path through the short distance of three feet or so, and drove through the back of Max's skull; exiting messily out his forehead and sending skull and brain fragments across the cracked pavement.

A split second later, Max's body joined the ejected remains of his head on the ground. His fingers twitched a couple of times, and then he was completely still.

Bill stood over the body; gazing down at it for a few long seconds. Once again, he checked for some reaction in himself to all of this, but still….nothing. He waited until he could no longer hear the echo of the gunshot and then placidly took a few steps back.

He left the man's body where it had fallen. He did not touch it, or give it more than a fleeting glance once he turned away. His gun re-holstered, he retraced his steps back out onto the busier streets. He passed the flower cart, where just minutes before, a man that was no longer alive had stood; a man that he had ruthlessly killed. The thought brought a vague smile to Bill's face.

Boarding a packed bus to Chinatown, Bill passed the minutes calmly watching the after work crowd bustle on and off; feeling extremely composed and at peace with himself. He even offered his seat to an elderly man and flashed a broad smile to a group of laughing young women. Indeed, he felt nothing like a man who had just committed a murder. Hell, if he could kill just like he was dropping a letter in the mailbox, then just imagine how easy it all would be?

With that tranquil yet disturbing thought in mind, he got off in Chinatown and took a right on Grant Street. By now, the sun had long set and a warm twilight had settled in for the night. The street was crowded with its usual mix of Chinese inhabitants and starry eyed Caucasian tourists. Wasting little time, Bill made his way to the South corner and ascended a set of stairs next to adjacent restaurant called 'Gold Bowl Chinese Cuisine.' The stairs emptied out onto a small railed overlook.

Two well dressed Chinese men were waiting there; one contentedly puffing away on a cigarette, the other shorter man gazing solemnly over across the street.

Bill approached the duo; dark eyes meeting those of the shorter man as he turned. This man was roughly of Bill's age, a well muscled youth with a straight black mop of jaw length hair and high chiseled cheekbones. His face remained coolly unchanged as Bill stepped up beside him.

Looking him directly in the face, Bill simply stated. "It's done."

Snubbing his cigarette out, the other Chinese man spoke up in a deep growl. "As instructed?"

Bill's gaze briefly flickered over to the other man. "One shot, to the back of the skull. I left him where he fell. He's in an alley off of Second, behind O'Reilly's Pub…downtown."

"Excellent," the man replied with a sense of grave joy. He even managed a bleak smile despite the obvious pain the gesture caused him.

The shorter youth's own smile was far warmer as he displayed his own happiness over the news; his hand falling on Bill's shoulder. His chiseled face remained split into a wide toothy smile; one that was not devoid of some sadistic undertones…..despite the youth surrounding it.

The look in his eyes deepened with a sense deep-felt pride as he spoke up again. "Welcome to the underground Bill."

* * *

One year earlier.

Well, Bill hadn't exactly just waltzed into the assassin's life overnight. Even he wasn't that good…….yet.

It had been a series of consequential events that had allowed him to enter the underground world at such a relatively young age. It could be argued that those events had been in motion from the moment he was born; after all, Bill had seemingly been destined to be a murdering bastard. His whole rough and often brutal childhood had served as the bitter appetizer to the long six course meal of murder and betrayal he was about to live through. You could call it fate if you liked, but the more palpable threshold of his "career" had most likely been the night Bill walked into Master Kuan-Yin Yi's Kung Fu School on the corner of Grant and Sacramento Street; located in the heart of San Francisco's bustling Chinatown.

Bill had torn out the ad for the kung fu school while sitting in a small diner around the corner from the dingy hotel he was staying at. He had then spent a few heedless days pondering the thought of actually going to the school. Despite being a highly arrogant young man, Bill had to admit to himself that he did really like learning from others. He'd learned to survive in Acuna from Julio, and he'd learned about life….in all its many facets, from Estiban. He liked having a mentor, or perhaps it had more to with filling that role of the surrogate father? Well, either way Bill acknowledged his need to learn. He of course had to pin much of his young wisdom and insight on his born gifts. His high intellect and quick adaptability were things he felt worth noting.

He also considered himself pretty damn tough. He could fight, but he wanted to learn this kung fu style of fighting. He knew very little about it. And it all seemed pretty exotic to him; conjuring up visions of quiet hairless monks in robes performing a variety of gracefully deadly techniques. All the while incense burned in the background and candles flickered across the ancient temple walls. He wasn't really sure why he was drawn to this idea; as clichéd as it was, but there was no denying it spoke to him on some level or another. And truth be told, he just really wanted to know how to really beat the fucking shit out of somebody. It was pretty obvious at this point in his life that he wasn't afraid to hurt human beings, or even to kill them for that matter…..wanted to kill them even. Perhaps kung fu could serve that purpose.

So, in the end his curiosity and craving for violence got the better of him and he strolled into Master Yi's Kung Fu school on a muggy late summer evening; a change of workout clothes in his duffel and a confident swagger in his youthful stride.

It was a good sized corner building, lit by a pair of flanking off white street lamps. A set of double glass doors; shaded by drawn bamboo mats dominated the corner side; windowless grey side paneling on the others. There was a small white sign taped against the glass indicating the school's name and hours. There was nothing else in the way of decoration. You certainly wouldn't call it charming from the outside, but a little mysterious perhaps….in that minimalist sort of way.

Bill opened the left hand door and stepped into the entryway. Inside it was very dimly lit. The ceiling was low and bare of both decoration and coatings of paint. A wooden paneled floor filled the training area; which took up the majority of the floor plan beyond the small entryway. The entryway itself was filled to the brim with potted plants, statuary, a worn bamboo bench, and even a small trickling fountain. Delicate paper fans decorated in Chinese calligraphy hung on all four walls, and Bill spotted a number of ornate tapestries hanging further down in the training area. There were no mirrors to be anywhere. A smell of pleasantly exotic incense drifted throughout the area.

Bill found he was entranced by it all at first sight and took little notice of the students presently training. Pausing to examine a stone reclining Buddha statue atop the narrow entry desk; he also took little notice of the sudden volume drop his arrival had caused in the room.

Now, at that time in the late 60's, there were very few kung fu schools in the United States, and very rarely did a Caucasian actually just up and walk into one of them. This was before the real emergence of Bruce Lee; before the real separation between Eastern and Western cultures began to slowly melt away. Any Civil Rights activist back then could have given you an earful of America's racial and social separations. These separations often went both ways, and when Bill boldly entered Master Yi's school, the reception was far from warm.

When he finally pulled his attention away from the Eastern décor, Bill found himself staring back at twenty pairs of Chinese eyes; none of them conveying anything remotely friendly. There were two women and eighteen men…all of varying age, but all obviously of full Asian descent. They were all dressed in plain white loose fitting outfits. Bill noted that they all also had white sashes tired around their waists; there was seemingly no colored ranking system whatsoever.

The group seemed to have frozen in mid exercise; grouped off in pairs that were now standing a few feet apart from one another as they surveyed the newcomer. Only one man appeared to not be paired up with anybody. He stood off to the side, watching Bill along with the others; his gnarled hands clasped serenely in front of him.

Bill knew right away that this had to be Master Yi. The man appeared older than time itself; if that was possible. He was laughably small; five feet tall, tops…and had a frame that was both unassuming and non-intimidating. And while his posture was quite straight, Bill found himself disappointed at the man's overall appearance; short and old he had expected, but not so frail. This was not the ageless kung fu warrior he had hoped for.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, the small man made his way through the maze of frozen students. He moved with an exquisite grace and made no noticeable sound as he did so. He stopped a few feet away from the younger man.

At closer inspection, Bill found he could not even place Yi's age. Sixty? Eighty? A hundred and fifty-seven? Moses would have been rivaled. Amidst Yi's understated yet wizened Asian features a pair of dark narrow eyes shone out like two brilliant pairs of obsidian stuck into a wad of wrinkled burlap. Above them, his dome of a head gleamed off of the school's moody candlelit interior; fringed only a by a thin wisp of almost nonexistent colorless hair.

This was the head of the school? This was a kung fu master? This elderly man was supposed to be able to teach others to fight? To kill? Goddamn, this geezer didn't look like he could even make it around the block, let alone throw somebody around. Bill resisted a snort; which resulted in a controlled tight smirk. No way. This man wouldn't even last a day in Acuna.

Yi seemed to take Bill's expression as some form of an invitation. "May I help you?" he spoke up; his voice was as gentle and unassuming as his person. There was a noticeable accent there, but it was obvious the man could speak English just fine.

Bill pulled away from his thoughts of disappointment with some difficulty. "I'd like to join your school….Mr….uh Yi….," the word sounded odd coming out his mouth and he felt the first twinge of awkwardness; a feeling that he greatly disliked.

A low murmur went through the students, and it was not one of agreement. Bill could not understand the few Chinese words he heard, but he could guess the general consensus. They all continued to watch him with those dark cool eyes of theirs, as if he'd not only just walked in on something sacred but had dared to try to include himself in it.

But Yi just shook his head dismissively; remaining neutral towards the situation. "I'm sorry, I'm not taking any more students this year…too full."

Bill remained undaunted; his expression still well composed despite his growing discomfort. He gestured to the room; which was still a generous space even with the twenty students standing in it. "Looks like you have enough room for one more." He attempted a charming smile in Yi's direction, "I'm skinny….I don't take up much room….."

For a few moments Yi simply regarded the much taller and younger man; his creased features shifting subtly towards pity. "You want to learn kung fu….," this time his voice had a distinct edge to it, "….like all of them, to hurt others…to abuse, yes? I do not teach to hurt or abuse."

Bill shook his head. "That's not why I'm here." He made the partial lie sound as convincing as possible. "I want to learn……….to know….." He was suddenly somewhat lost on a valid explanation, and faltered. 'I mean…I already know how to fight. I'm looking for….something new I guess."

At this the students once again exchanged affronted glances. The murmur was lower and shorter in duration than before. Bill stood his ground, what little he had, in the wake of this distain; most of which he didn't really understand.

Still, Yi remained neutral. The old master unfolded his hands slowly, gracefully. "Fighting has so little to do with it son," he said softly; a lifetime of knowledge weighing down his words. "Kung fu is not these," he held up his fists, "but this…..." he pointed to the left side of his lean chest, "…and this…" his weathered fingertip rose to his forehead.

Bill sniffed. He should have expected this sort of soft explanation from a man like Yi. This guy probably had never had a real fight in his entire life; spent the majority of his fading time trimming his lovingly planted flowers or feeding pigeons in the park.

"But," Yi spoke up so loudly suddenly it made Bill jump. The old man threw up his hands; smiling to reveal a set of small, well kept teeth, "…..if fighting is what you know, then let us fight and see what you have to show us."

This time the student's murmurs were filled with a sense of eager anticipation. They exchanged jaded glances and a few wry smiles.

Bill smirked over his shoulder at the assembled group. They were acting as if he was about to get killed and they simply couldn't wait to see it happen; a lamb going to the slaughter. Fucking morons. They needed to get outside away from their fat Buddha and their bowls of rice and see some of the real world.

Turning back to Yi, Bill dropped his duffel bag at his feet dramatically. He began to unbutton his shirt; a confident feral sneer on his face all the while.

Yi waited patiently; hands once again clasped in front of him. "I must tell you, the real man engages his enemy in a battle of wits, not a battle of brawn."

Bill peeled his shirt off his shoulders with bravado. "Yeah well, not any real man I know Mister Yi."

The old man shook his head in an expression of weary pity that Bill would come to know very, very well over the next couple months. But at this time he simply took it as an old fool's arrogance.

Shirt disposed of, Bill settled himself in the sort of fighting stance he'd used countless times over the years in Mexican bars, alleyways, parking lots and backyards. He fixed the other man with a sharp glare; just about every guy he knew in Acuna was scared shitless of that glare. That glare meant they were about to get their ass handed to them, and nobody fucked around with Bill after that. In his mind, he was a man to fear.

But Yi didn't seem intimidated by this juvenile behavior in the slightest. In fact he almost looked bored, standing there with his hands still demurely clasped in front of him, lips pressed tightly together, eyes watchful but still somewhat uninterested in this demonstration. He didn't move at all.

Bill bit down on his annoyance and frustration as he circled closer and closer to Yi. The old man was so fucking passive! This was probably going to be the easiest fight he'd had in years; easier even than when he'd had a gun along to encourage cooperation.

"Just so you know, I will not attack you first my son," Yi spoke up into the tension thick silence; his eyes locked on Bill. Yi looked as if he was about to explain this philosophy further, but instead remained as he was; silent and waiting.

Well Bill certainly had no qualms against instigating violence, and if Yi was just going to stand there like an idiot, than the old man was asking for it.

Fists clenched out in front of him now, Bill circled closer. It was then that he caught something in Yi's flinty eyes that momentarily chilled him to the bone. He couldn't name it, or really place it, but it was there. It was the look of deep knowledge and yet humble mysticism. It was a look of power, and it was frightening. Bill had a very brief inclination to step away and admit defeat, but the look in Yi's eyes was gone as quickly as it had appeared and he was once again nothing more to Bill than a disappointing and silly relic.

Flustered, he took a swing at the old man.

At least, that had been the idea, but Bill didn't exactly remember finishing the punch. He'd swung out, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back. His chest felt as if it had been kicked in by a small horse, or perhaps an old familiar baseball bat. Either way, he couldn't breathe, and he found himself gasping eagerly for air that wasn't coming to him quickly enough. All he could do for a few seconds was hug himself and struggle for breath.

If he had been more coherent he might have noticed the faint whisper of snickering amongst the gathered students. Thankfully he didn't, because that familiar flush of anger had consumed him in an instant; like a gasoline lit fire. He was back on his feet within seconds; ignoring the pain in his chest as he did so.

Yi didn't appear to have moved at all; displaying that same placid expression, that same casual stance. Seeing this only angered Bill further, and he lunged at the old man a second time; this time in a low crouched assault.

Yi sidestepped him in a flash, sending him tripping forward over on his own power and back onto the harsh wooden floor; this time face first. The snickers from the students were louder, and Bill found himself glaring at their bare feet from his vantage point on the floor. He hated being humiliated, he hated it. He ground his teeth together and slammed a palm into the floor childishly.

Anger got him quickly back on his feet again. Not much to his surprise Yi was still a picture of perfect placidity. Baring his teeth, Bill once again attacked. This time, he faked quickly to the left and managed to step right around Yi's back. He didn't waste any time, putting Yi into a button tight full nelson grip. The old man didn't even resist at all, and Bill enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction as he wrenched Yi's lean arms above his head. This hold was almost entirely failsafe, and could become immensely painful very quickly. But, Bill's moment of glory was brief indeed. Yi's almost entirely bald head suddenly snapped back and struck Bill full in the face; seeing as Yi was a good foot shorter than himself.

Now, the back of a person's head was quite hard; just ask anybody who had been reverse head butted, and naturally Bill instantly let go on the hold. Yi spun and seized the opportunity; he delivered a series of strikes to Bill's torso that were so quick that the old man's skilled hands were literally a blur of motion.

Bill, nursing his profusely bleeding nose and lip, was so focused on his newly wrought injuries that he didn't even make any effort to block Yi's rapid attacks. He took them all on at full force. That initial strike to the chest had been a love pat in comparison to these, no these were more like steel pistons powered on pure hydraulics and Bill fell backwards just out of sheer force alone.

This time, Yi's school floor seemed harder than ever….or maybe that was just the pain of humiliation that really stung. Laid out flat on his back by a man at least three times his age, Bill remained where he was; his right hand covering his bloodied face, his left clasping at his ribs…which he was sure were cracked Well, at least his nose wasn't broken; that much he could tell. But that was little solace to the pain of degradation.

The room was now completely silent, save for the mockingly tranquil drizzle of the fountain in the entryway.

He could sense Yi's quietly approaching footsteps come up beside him like a whisper. Still he didn't move. Bill was tempted to lash out, but somehow he knew that it wouldn't matter; Yi would just best him again. It was infuriating beyond words.

Smiling down at the young man, Yi said, "You hit like……John Wayne after five shots of whiskey…..so….sloppy…silly white…bar fighting. It is no good." He shook his head again in that expression of genial pity. "That is not good fighting."

Bill slowly removed his bloodstained hand from his face and stared up at the man. Had this ancient Chinese bastard just made a reference to John Wayne? To The Duke? He blinked a few times, and then, despite himself, he felt a smile spread across his face; re-splitting his lip open in the process. He pushed himself up on his elbows, urged on by the friendly face looking down at him. "Then teach me how to fight well, like you just did. That's what I want to know how to do."

Yi pursed his lips. "No. You're hot headed. You're an instigator. I do not wish to teach these types."

Bill continued to look up at Yi; who still seemed short from the vantage point of the floor. "Give me a chance Mister Yi. I'm a quick learner, and I work hard." He put on his most earnest expression.

There was a long drawn out silence; where Yi gazed down at Bill, attempting to appear unaffected and hard nosed, and where Bill gazed up at Yi, attempting to appear sincere and boyishly eager. The rest of the students looked on keenly,

After what seemed like hours to Bill, Yi finally held out his gnarled hand. "You are my first white student…."

Bill took the man's hand; feeling a genuine grin spread across his face as he was helped to his feet. "There's a first time for everything…"

Yi nodded his sagely head as if it were a heavy weight on a string. "Indeed, there is my son." He refolded his hands, like a priest after a raging sermon. "Yes. Very well…I will allow it, but I teach only in Mandarin…not English. If you do not understand me, I cannot help that. You learn to understand me, or learn to read my mind; whichever ability you master first."

"I'll learn," Bill said boldly; not specifying which path he'd take.

"And," Yi continued on like a punishing parent, "….you will work hard. You will not harm my other students. You will take that temper of yours and put it under control. I do not want to see it here. You will listen to what I have to say, and not talk back. You will learn to respect my ways, and I hope….," a faint smile touched his thin lips, "….learn to make them your own ways." His eyes softened a little. "I can teach you what I know, but it is only you who can choose to follow the right path." He took a few steps towards Bill. "To follow this….," he put palm on Bill's upper arm. "Or this…." He stepped back and pressed his hands against his chest.

Some of that was a little too mystical and vague for Bill at this point in his youth, but he nodded nonetheless. It sounded good at least, and it was also in that moment that Bill's view of Master Yi changed dramatically. After some closer observation of the old man, not to mention that rather painful demonstration, he began to notice the tightness of Yi's muscles in his neck and forearms. He wasn't sunken in at all; but in fact he was hardened by years of training and discipline. There was a sleek stillness about him that Bill suddenly greatly envied. This man was in full control of himself; both mentally and physically…far into his years. The only old men Bill knew had always been crusty, unhealthy, drunkards with a penchant to lose their faculties at the worst possible moments. Yi was nothing like that.

"Whatever you require of me Master Yi," Bill added with this newfound respect.

Perhaps sensing this change in the young man, Yi offered another one of those soft sagely smiles. "Good. Then please," he gestured to a closed wooden door at the back of the training studio, "…clean up and get dressed. Then you may join in on the training."

Looking back, Bill was never exactly sure why Yi had accepted him as his student. It was obvious from the beginning that Bill was not cut out for the pacifist theology that Yi taught, but perhaps there was something in the young man that Yi saw; something he wanted to harness, or more likely something he wanted to get rid of forever. Whatever it was, Yi was willing to give Bill a chance, despite perhaps a sagely inclination that the lean youngster was just trouble waiting to happen.

After class that night, Yi shook the young man's hand. "Very good work tonight, I see potential beneath all of that bad fighting. But, I'm afraid I did not get your name son?"

Bill smiled calculatingly. "The name's Daniel Blaine."

* * *

Even before Bill began his work killing people for a living, the idea of formulating an alias was already a definite in his mind. Any good criminal had an alias. He was selling drugs…technically a criminal, and he wasn't going to have his real name attached to his illicit business. Granted, "Bill" had gotten into a little trouble in Mexico….seeing as he'd been arrested that one time in Austin Texas. He didn't want to further endanger his real identity. As far as he was concerned 'Bill' would not exist in any sort of official capacity within the borders of the United States from that point on. Those who would know him as 'Bill' would now only be of the sort who inhabited the underworld. 

So, Bill created Daniel Blaine, but who exactly was Daniel Blaine? Well, Daniel was a pretty typical mid-West all American guy who'd left his sleepy small Colorado home at the age of eighteen in search of the sun streaked beaches of California; he was a real 1950's conformist come hippie story.

Daniel was the only child of a decorated World War II Army colonel, and a loving homemaker mother. He liked school, got good grades, took photos for his high school paper, had a steady Catholic girl sweetheart who was "saving" herself for marriage, sang in the church choir when he had the time, and skateboarded with his friends if there wasn't any snow packed on the ground. He told his parents he either wanted to be a dentist or an architect, but deep down he was sure he wanted to be a meaningless drifter.

Home life had been real swell too, up until his senior year in high school that is. His dad started drinking a lot; hitting his mother behind the closed bedroom door, and going out to the racing track for hours on end with his drinking pals. In response, mom had started taking valium and sleeping pills to cope with it all; "Mother's little helpers" they were labeled later on. She was afraid the neighbors would find out about the disaster that was her home life. Nobody had those problems, nobody acceptable that is. She'd get kicked out the bridge club! The PTA would shun her! She'd be humiliated! She cried allot.

A day after graduating high school Daniel had found out that his father had blown the family's entire savings on gambling. Mom went into a psychotic fit and spent a month "away" from the house. It was then that Daniel decided to get the hell outta Dodge. On a cold spring morning he kissed his pale mom goodbye, gave his angry old man a hand shake and climbed into his newly bought cherry red '64 Thunderbird.

Once Daniel got to San Francisco he'd started smoking….both cannabis and tobacco, and grew his hair out long. He stuck his girl's senior photo away in his car's glove compartment and found a few California blondes to toss around with. He rarely called his parents, afraid of what both sides would discover. He tried working legit but hated it, so he spent a few languid months partying in northern Mexico and then after his return to the States started selling dope in San Francisco for a steady living.

Well holy fucking shit, life wasn't quite like "Leave it to Beaver" now was it?

Bill relished coming up with this little back story for his persona. It was, at its core, his satire of the post war culture in America, and he kept adding bits of bitter toppings along the way. He realized years later he was probably a little jealous of guys like Daniel Blaine, and had went out of his way to make the whole thing as over the top as spiteful reason allowed.

When it came to Daniel's interests, Bill found it best to use a mixture of both truths and lies.

Daniel liked to surf, but wasn't very good at it yet. He liked muscle cars, Indian food, weed, Western movies…especially those new Clint Eastwood ones, rock music, camping, tequila, and of course women. Granted, he was a little "bad", but he was still a good kid at heart. He was certainly not a sociopath or a born killer….oh no, that was for damn sure.

In a few years he'd cut his hair and get a real job just like most of his hippie friends would eventually do. In 1985 or so he'd probably find himself unhappily married, paying for his ungrateful kid's college tuition on the third mortgage money, fighting a beer belly, watching his hairline creep further back by the day, gaining the majority of his amusement from lame workplace humor and nightly sitcoms. All the while, sitting in freeway traffic; coping with confusing moments of memory loss and drug flashbacks while listening to classic rock in the station wagon with tears in his eyes, just wishing he could get laid like he used to.

Well, Daniel Blaine was certainly not Bill, but for now Bill could pretend to be Daniel Blaine.

Back then it wasn't so hard to get a phony drivers license, birth certificate and social security card. Julio had taught Bill the ins and outs of false identification years ago. And when Julio's methods lacked the needed sophistication, Bill found he could compensate with this own talents. A little lie here, and a convincing forgery there, and Daniel Blaine was, at least according to the Great United States of America, a legit human being within months of his conception.

God bless America.

It was weird at first, having to remember to address himself and answer to the name of 'Daniel'. But it didn't take long for Bill to adjust to it. He could eventually look in the mirror and even see a Daniel in there somewhere. He'd always been good at 'acting' a part, and playing the part of Daniel came to him fairly easily. It was a good thing too, because Daniel Blaine was just going to be the first in a long list of fake names Bill would adopt during his lifetime. Apparently practice does make perfect.

* * *

Getting into Master Yi's school had been a big step forward for Bill, but there still remained the daunting problem of continuing to make a living. Yi's school cost money to attend, not to mention living in general. 

It came down to the same story, Bill simply didn't want to go out and get a real job. He was a twenty year old criminal, not a big one as of yet, but illegal activities had served as his source of income all of his young adult life. It was what he knew and understood. Working in some garage….or even worse, in some office, held about as much appeal for him as going to jail did.

Selling dope made him roughly a hundred bucks a week; hardly a fortune, but not too shabby for those days. It was enough for him to continue to live in the hotel, pay his monthly dues to Yi and keep the Thunderbird up and running. He often scored free dinners with acquaintances from Height Street and certainly wasn't beyond charming a nice pretty girl or two into sharing a meal….and perhaps a little more if she was so inclined.

But it all was a little short of the glamour and riches that California had seemed to offer to him when he'd first left Acuna. Still, Bill persisted. If he had to sell weed to keep from getting a real job, then so be it. He thought he was smart enough to make it and wily enough not to be caught. He'd find a way out of it when the time was right.

Things on Height had been growing pretty crazy over the last month or so. Maybe it was the war, maybe it was the music, or maybe it was just that the drugs were getting stronger. Who knew for sure, but Bill found the growing frenzy to be an asset to his business. Kids loved weed. It was bad without being really dangerous, stoned without really tripping. It was white suburbia's entry drug of choice.

He'd run out of his own stock of marijuana sometime ago, and he had to seek out another source. Luckily his fluent Spanish earned him a few acquaintances in the moderate but scattered Hispanic community throughout the city, and it turned out a number of those guys were Tijuana runners. They were adept at getting the goods, but not so keen on selling it on the streets; more in fear of getting caught by the I.N.S. than the cops themselves. Bill stepped in as the perfect Mexican/American liaison. The goods weren't always up to the same snuff of what he'd had before, but he knew now it didn't really matter. It was a hell of allot better than the brown sawdust most of these kids considered 'good shit'.

Bill sold all over San Francisco, but it was always Height Street that brought the quickest bank roll. On a typical afternoon he'd park his Thunderbird a few blocks away and spend a good four or five hours meandering the street from one end to the other. If a cop was spotted, he'd duck into a nearby store; something there was never a shortage of. But it was usually so busy and so full of life that it was easy to get lost in the crowds if needed.

On one typical afternoon, after wrapping up a quick exchange in front of 'Mr. Hello's'…which was basically a glorified tourist shop, Bill spent a few minutes loitering around. It was best to do this after a deal to defuse any suspicion if being watched. So he casually lit up a cigarette, and pretended to look interested in a window display of assorted technicolor candles.

"Hey you!"

Bill glanced over in the general direction of the agitated voice; catching sight of a very tall man out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah you, you lean fuck! I'm talkin' to you!"

That got his full attention, and Bill turned to face the owner of the voice; a young man roughly Bill's age…perhaps a couple years older. He was indeed quite tall; at least 6'5" and had that kind of build that high school football coaches went crazy over; not muscular, but just flat out big. Although by the looks of this guy, he had probably been smoking hash under the bleachers instead of playing ball during high school. He had a head of almost elbow length wavy hair, and a fully grown scraggily beard to match; all of it a bold brown/red color. A pair of close set blue eyes stared out amidst the mass of wild tresses.

He was decked out in full 'hippie' attire: a long flowing brightly colored shirt… entirely unbuttoned, ill-fitting brown slacks and a pair of flapping sandals. He reeked of weed, booze and an utter lack of respect for any officially set system in existence.

"What can I do for ya?" Bill inquired mildly; leaning his shoulder against the side of the building. Maybe this was some screwball's idea of how to approach him for some dope. Not the most discreet method he'd seen, but he'd play along for the moment.

The big man jabbed a thick thumb back over his shoulder. "You'd better be movin' off to a different street amigo…."

Bill crossed his arms defensively. "I actually kinda like this street. I think I'll stay."

"No deal. I said get off this street….." The man took a step towards Bill; towering over him, and in turn casting him in full shadow. "Or I will make ya…"

Bill blew out a stream of indifferent smoke; looking unfazed by this. So this was what it was all about; selling territory. Fucking stupid. "I thought you hippie types didn't like violence."

"Hey man," Bill's intimidator reared up, "….don't be so quick to stick me in a fuckin' category. My old man showed me a thing or two about violence, and I certainly ain't against givin' a little back to fuckers like you who deserve it."

Bill shrugged. "Alright, but I'd like to know why I deserve it, before I get it that is…"

"Look smart ass," the big guy impatiently shook his mane of a head, "I've been sellin' here for over a year, and you can't just stroll on up here and take over my turf…..I ain't cool with that man….no fuckin' way…"

Bill flicked his cigarette onto the dirty sidewalk; smirking. "How do you even know I sell? Maybe I'm just here for the good vibes and braless girls"

The other man threw his large hands up with obvious vexation. "Come on man! I've seen you skulkin' around here for a good two months. I know what you're doin', and it sure as hell ain't buyin' fuckin' tie-dye shirts and wind chimes!"

At this, Bill's smirk widened. "Alright, so let's say for that moment….that I am dealing. You can't kick me off a public street just because I've got better stuff than you, for better prices. It's not my fault I'm doing better than you are."

That touched a nerve, and the tall hippie leaned in closer. "Whoa….hold up asshole, did I ever say you had better stuff that me? Did I ever say you were doin' better? Huh?"

"No, but I know it's the truth."

"Fuck you man! I know this whole city like the back of my fuckin' hand……I've got connections, I've got…….history." A meaty fist pounded at the barrel of a bare chest. "I am THE seller for this area. So have some respect for your predecessors and get your skinny ass off my street. Go take Castro, or fuckin' China Beach for Christ's sake!"

Bill had to congratulate himself on not going completely off the handle yet. If this had happened a few years ago, hell even a few months ago, he probably would have already beaten the living hell out of this guy for starting shit with him. But for some reason Bill was thinking of what Yi would do in a situation like this. Maybe even these few weeks of Yi's classes were doing more for him than he thought. He took a deep breath. "Look…….,"

"Bruce." The other man offered his name in a furry mumble.

"Look Bruce," Bill lowered his voice into an almost friendly tone, "I really don't want to kick your ass right here….on the street. But I gladly will somewhere more….exclusive. And believe me, I can." This bit of egotistic information didn't' seem to go over that well with Bruce, but he did nothing but continue to glare. Bill went on, "So, another option would be for us to come to some sort of agreement. Why don't we settle this like…civilized men?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, as civilized as two men who sling weed for a living can do. What do you say….amigo?"

Bruce mulled this idea over for a few moments; frowning deeply underneath his untrimmed mustache. The anger he'd been emitting before was quickly fading away in the wake of a far calmer and stubborn adversary than he'd anticipated.

"I'm not going to stop selling here," Bill confidently offered into the silence; brows raised. "So think over your options carefully Bruce."

After a few moments Bruce kicked his sandaled heel into the sidewalk in a gesture of feeble defeat. "Yeah…alright….we'll talk…..but back at my place."

Bill was satisfied with the victory, but he showed a little paranoia for appearance's sake. "You're not going to ambush me once we over there are you? Knock me out with a bong or anything?"

Bruce waved a hand, turning down the street with a lumbering walk. "Nah, us hippie types don't like violence….remember?" His blue eyed gaze twinkled with amusement.

Bill laughed; lighting up another cigarette as he fell into step with the other man. "Ah, yes….I nearly forgot there for a moment."

"I'm parked over here," Bruce said; gesturing to the upcoming corner. "It's the VW bus, you can't miss it man…it's wild lookin'. Meet me over here in your wheels, and you can follow me over."

Bill nodded. Of course a guy like Bruce would have an unmistakable VW bus. "Fair enough."

As it turned out, this shabby looking Bruce character had a massive loft overlooking Golden Gate Park. Bill was instantly jealous. It wasn't posh in that way that most people think of when they think 'drug dealer', but it was nice; probably a good 10,000 square feet in size. Two of the walls were almost entirely windows, and gave a great view out onto the water and the Golden Gate Bridge. The décor was expectantly psychedelic, with all of the bean bags and hanging beads you'd expect. There was an expensive color TV, a high end looking record player, fully stocked bar, numerous smoking accessories….including a four foot bong, trippy 'Bill Graham presents' concert posters from all over the city and lots of extra beds and couches to crash on. It was, without a doubt, a serious party loft.

So it was in this haven of vice that Bill and Bruce came to terms….over a bowl or three of course. It was decided that they could work together, given that they could each operate how they knew and split the profits down the middle. Each of them could then pick up the slack for the other guy. Bruce had the history and Bill had the clever intuition. Bill liked to think that Bruce was the jolly hippie figurehead, while he was the quietly scheming brains behind the act, but he didn't tell Bruce that; the man was obviously testy.

Bill quickly learned that Bruce was one of these guys who always seemed to have a fire lit up under his ass; he was either really excited or really angry over something. Bill thought his cooler demeanor made a good counterbalance to Bruce's emotional unpredictability. They made a good team, despite their rough beginning. But then again, that seemed to be the way Bill made friends, and he didn't question his methods.

Over the next few weeks Bill learned a little more about Bruce. He was a music nut, and he introduced Bill to all sorts of bands he'd heard little or none of; bands that Bruce swore would be: "…..fuckin' huge man, mark my words, FUCKIN HUGE!" So, Bill was introduced to bands such as: Deep Purple, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, even really British stuff like The Who and The Rolling Stones. It was all so new and so cool to him; entirely different from the sort of music he'd listened to in Mexico.

There was also another, perhaps even more destructive thing than rock n' roll that Bruce introduced Bill to. That was the growing world of psychedelic drugs.

Now, being around Bruce was like being around a giant, temperamental, fuzzy drug dispenser, and once he got to like you he was immensely generous with what he had. For the first few weeks that Bill knew Bruce, there was an almost endless of train of free weed, acid, masculine, DMT, morning glory, and magic mushrooms being passed along to his new friend.

Bill, being the prince of vice that he considered himself, willingly subjected his person to it all; unaware of just how powerful such things could be. His memory always failed him anytime he tried to remember those few weeks, but what he could remember was that he ended up holing himself up in his hotel room with his assortment of drugs for over three weeks straight. He never remembered going out, but he must have, because he didn't quite starve or dehydrate himself to death. He thought maybe he'd tried to go to Yi's classes at some point, but decided later he must not have attempted that. Maybe somewhere in that haze he'd found the meaning of life, or the key to his entire existence. Or maybe he'd just managed to count the number of threads in his bath mat. Either way, it didn't matter; because it was all gone from his memory when he eventually ran out of stock and found that his first sober realization was that he had absolutely no idea what day it was and that his room's television was completely missing.

It was scary as hell waking up from it all, but he managed to crawl out of that psychedelic world pretty much intact….or at least in the same general mental state that he'd always been in; which was questionably sane to begin with. Bill would find out later that some people weren't so lucky; some didn't come back at all.

After that, he didn't always take what Bruce offered him. But he sure as hell didn't refrain either; he'd just learned quickly through excess, the value of moderation.

Another notable thing about Bruce was that he had a live in girlfriend. Bill wasn't exactly sure how long she and Bruce had been together, but it must have been for some time, given their lax comfort level with one another. Her real name had been Abigail Pettington, but she'd changed it to Rainbow Lilly Sunchild in '63. Bruce affectionately called her "Ray" for short, as did all her many friends.

The first time Bill met her she tried to read his palm and then grab his ass. She was a short round faced girl with long legs and perky breasts. Her strawberry blonde hair hung to her narrow waist, and her large green eyes were always partially obscured by those wild tresses. She was also absolutely nuts, and Bill wasn't sure it was all necessarily because of the drugs. She was a full on out of control, attention seeking, drama queen. In two years of heavy drug use she'd leapt from multiple story windows twice (once into a pool, the other into some fatefully place shrubs), totaled three cars, been arrested six times….four of those for public displays of nudity, and had even managed to get "lost" for two weeks in the redwood forests of Northern California…..all the while claiming she was in "The Shire". She was indefinitely unemployed and continuously loaded. She was, before it became the popular trend, a true free spirit.

Ray always seemed to be doing something crazy every time Bill came over to Bruce's loft. Something like….dancing in the middle of the living room to "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'"; shaking that round ass of hers as if a lizard had crawled up into her optional underwear, a half empty bottle of Night Train in one hand and a little girl's Barbie mirror in the other…..for instance.

Bruce would always gaze at her lovingly and say quietly to Bill: "Isn't she a fuckin' hot trip?"

And Bill's usual response would be a wide-eyed but tactfully vague, "Oh yes….."

Ray immediately took a liking to 'Daniel'. She said he reminded her of one of those lonely young cowboys from the movies and started calling him "Dangerous Dan". Sometimes when Bruce wasn't watching her she'd lean up closely against "Dan" and slowly run her tongue over her perfect little teeth. And then she'd say something like: "You're dangerous Daniel….I can see it in your dark eyes. Real dangerous….makes me wanna know what bad things you've done. I like that….I think it's sexy….."

Temping, but no. She was a tease all right, but Bill wouldn't have touched her. First off, she was Bruce's exclusive girl and Bill tried to curtail his limits of moral infidelity to some extent. Secondly…she might be hot, but she was scary and weird as hell; the type who might just deicide to bite you're dick off on a cruel whim, or light you on fire once you'd fallen asleep next to her. That was a risk he simply wasn't willing to take, probable crazy hot sex or not.

A couple years later, when an off-off-Broadway production of _Hair_ came to San Francisco, Rainbow got her big chance, and was able to bask in her fifteen minutes of fame as an anonymous unclothed chorus member.

Bruce and Rainbow were crazy, but it couldn't be said that they weren't right for one another and underneath all of the substance abuse, beads and hair it was obvious that they cared deeply for each other in their own way.

It was the first time Bill really experienced any sort of jealousy towards a couple who had so much in common with one another. He was still young and naive enough to spend just a little time pining over the certain tragedy that he was going to go through life never meeting somebody who was really that much like himself. He thought later that perhaps that was probably a good thing after all.

* * *

Bill's next bit of business, after getting into Yi's school and allying himself with Bruce that is, was to find a new place to live. The rented out hotel room was getting old very fast. The plumbing was leaky, the bed was uncomfortable, the bedside lamp didn't work half the time, the carpet looked like it had been decorated in an outdated shade of puke, and perhaps worst of all…the entire floor bore audible witness anytime anybody had sex. And there was far too much sex going on in that place. 

Well, it was cheap for a reason.

What Bill really wanted was a nice spacious place with a view of the Bay; somewhat like what Bruce had….minus the pleather bean bags and crazy girlfriend. He could clearly picture his dream place; nice furniture, big open floor plan, lots of windows. It was the kind of place you could stay in all day and not feel one bit cramped. It would be cool but strangely sophisticated.

Yet again, it was reality check time. Bill hadn't been born with a silver spoon shoved up his ass like most of those pricks living up by the Bay. He'd been born a bastard. He'd worked hard to survive his childhood and get even this far. And unlike Bruce he hadn't been selling dope for years; he didn't have the amassed money yet. Hell, he couldn't even afford to rent a square foot patch of grass by the Bay if he wanted to.

His other option was shacking up with some of his befriended Height Street acquaintances, but he'd noticed a somewhat disturbing lack of hygiene amongst that group and that did not sit well with him as a desirable quality in a roommate. Bruce lived with Ray, and that immediately scratched out that option for Bill. Any woman at all was out of the dealings. He was not going to live with a woman; hell fucking no.

More importantly, the hotel's location was no good. It was much just a little too far from Chinatown to make going back and forth to kung fu class every evening very convenient. Bill also quickly realized he hated the bus, and it was completely idiotic to drive in San Francisco. He had to live close in.

Yet, what it really came down to was the fact that Bill was starting to like being in Chinatown more and more. When he'd first moved to San Francisco he'd often go and hang out in the small Hispanic pockets of town. It helped with the small twinges of homesickness he'd felt during those first few weeks. But those feelings quickly faded away and he found himself more drawn to Chinatown than anywhere else in the city. He liked Height, but he'd be stupid to live near there; never reside where you're dealing.

Plus, there was just something about Chinatown that intrigued him. He was beginning to feel an affinity for the atmosphere of those streets, the smell of the food, the sound of the languages, the look of the Chinese writing, hell…even the people themselves. He liked to just walk up and down the streets, standing a good head taller amongst the sea of Asian faces; not understanding a word spoken around him. It wasn't quite like being in a different country, but it was close.

Usually he'd spend a good hour or two walking in Chinatown before going to kung fu class. He rarely engaged anyone in any conversation or interaction during these daily walks, but the one time he did it just happened to work out in his favor.

One evening while walking along Kearny Street, one of the major veins of Chinatown, he spotted an old woman in front of a small fish store. She was short, sporting a pair of sloping overworked shoulders and struggling with a stack of wooden crates that smelled like two day old fish.

Bill couldn't be considered much of a Good Samaritan, but he was not without brief moments of young compassion towards the old. So, fighting against his desire to just keep walking, he approached the woman and bent down to pick up one of the boxes for her.

She turned and peered over up at him with beady, slightly myopic eyes. Her small thin lipped mouth opened and closed a few times; looking strangely much like the fish stacked just behind her. Her wrinkled cheeks twitched a few times and then the momentary surprise faded away into aged satisfaction. She pushed a callused finger into his shoulder. "You tall boy….help me with boxes."

Bill smirked at her over the rim of the box he was currently holding. "Yeah, that's what I was doing," he offered dryly.

The woman made a horrible noise in the back of her throat, one that he assumed was her way of showing she was adequately satisfied with that choice. She then turned and possessively scuttled back over to the tables of fish sitting out in front of what he assumed was her store. She made a flapping motion with her left hand; indicating that the boxes should go inside the foul smelling building.

Already regretting his decision, Bill flashed her a dark glare and hauled the box inside without another word. After that box, there were the five more out in front. Then, as it turned out, there just happened to be eight more in the side alley…..and three more out back. After that, the woman then had him lift supplies down from the walk in freezer and stack empty fish crates in the store room.

Three grueling hours later, Bill was on the verge of walking out and telling this woman to find somebody else to enslave, when she offered him not only some food…but an entire meal. Bill's recent love for Chinese food had grown to an obsession, and besides….the best way for an unattractive woman to get to a twenty year old kid's heart is through his stomach. He was inclined to stay for dinner on the grounds that he didn't have to move anything more.

Over a home cooked meal of fish and rice in the restaurant's small adjoining house, Bill found himself indulging small bits of personal information to the elderly woman…who spoke little English. He wasn't exactly sure why he was talking to her, most of it was lies anyways……but it was still a type of female parental contact that he'd avoided most of his life. Was it because this woman wasn't' his mother? Or was it simply because she was Chinese, and offered some sort of exotic mysticism that he was looking for?

Either way, he found himself talking to her. He of course had introduced himself as Daniel Blaine and in turn shared bits of his false identities rather trite life with her. She nodded, and made that horrible noise in her throat a few times. But it was only when he came to the end of it all, about how he was looking for a new place to live….one closer to Chinatown, that she brightened up.

Waving her chopsticks at him from across the small wooden table, she spoke up in broken English. "You help me lifting boxes…..in morning….sometimes help in kitchen, and you can have place to live….free…no money." She jabbed a weathered finger towards the ceiling and assumedly the top story. "My son, he lived up there, until his stupid self was killed…..last year…he was in gang." Her wrinkled mouth twitched a little, and then it settled on a small smile. "I give you good food too….make you less skinny."

Bill was at first shocked at this proposal, but he made no outward inclination of it. He studied the woman sharply in the dining room's dim light; attempting to read for some ulterior motive; like a man far older and wiser than he really was. Of course she had a ulterior motive; she wanted a strong young man around to do manual labor for her. But was there something more? Was she just lonely, or was she looking to replace her dead son? Bill sincerely hoped not, because he was going to be nobodies stand in son….not anymore.

He thought about refusing her outright after that disturbing thought, but after a long digression on his current hotel room; he conceded to the arrangement with the old woman.

The 'old woman's' real name was Mai Li Khu, but as it turns out she went by the odd nickname of Mama Boba amongst those in Chinatown. After having lived in the single room over her house for over a week, Bill finally asked her why they called her that. She simply told him, "I see the future," and picked up a cracked tea cup from the counter; pointing at the dark dried up leaves sitting at the bottom and giving him a mystical look.

He laughed at her; quickly dismissing it all as the effects of having snorted fish aroma for far too many decades, but on later thought he found the finding a little unsettling. This woman could be totally insane for all he knew…..something of which he was already pretty damn sure of.

It took a few more days for Bill to finally pinpoint just what Mai reminded him of. When he was fifteen or so, he'd read "The Hobbit" by Tolken. And it was a Hobbit that Mai reminded him of; an old Chinese version of a Hobbit; a damn loud and cranky one at that.

By the third week she was driving him crazy.

"DANIEL!" She'd yell up the staircase to his room, around six in the morning, "MOVE BOXES FOR ME!"

Bill's typical response would be: "Fuck off Mai!"

"OKAY, YOU SLEEP; I THROW YOUR THINGS OUT THE WINDOW NOW! YOU FIND NEW PLACE TO LIVE!"

And with that he'd throw the covers aside, "Damnit…..fucking hag…"

"WHAT YOU SAY?"

"Nothing! I'll be right down!"

And so it would go every morning.

A month after living with Mama Boba, Bill came to the conclusion that the woman was, without a doubt, off her fucking rocker. She was a master of bizarre behavior. She'd go out to the back alley every evening and feed the stray cats drawn in by the fish smell. She'd wail on in some haunting speech that Bill swore was no kind of Chinese he'd yet to hear. It was the type of sound that made nails on a chalkboard seem endurable. All the while she'd bob back and forth; almost trance-like as she tossed rancid fish guts out to the fetid, mangy cats. They'd watch her like a kindred spirit, with their slanted prism eyes glowing under the florescent back lights. Then Mai would go inside and smoke a tobacco pipe; a habit that Bill had always prescribed as thoroughly unfeminine. She'd usually eventually fall asleep in her recliner; the lit pipe dangerously close to toppling from her arthritic fingers and setting the entire espestus filled building on fire.

But, despite it all, Bill knew it was far better than where he'd been before. The only thing that really irked him, was that despite his firm resolve, he'd ended up shaking up with a woman after all.

* * *

**NEXT TWO PARTS OF THIS CHAPTER COMING SOON!**


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